Losing my Religion
by queenkepner
Summary: There is a distant look in her forest-deep eyes, where the emerald trees violently crash against each other as the wind whirls out of control. That look, he thinks, is why they name storms after people. Post 14x10
1. Chapter 1: Oceans

**Chapter 1: Oceans**

It feels like there's oceans

Between me and you once again

We hide our emotions

Under the surface and tryin' to pretend

But it feels like there's oceans

 **Between you and me**

5 weeks later

A sense of unfamiliarity washes over April's body as she looks back at her reflection in the mirror. A feeling similar to the sentiment of meeting someone for the first time, or seeing an old friend and merely recognizing distant traits that were once so familiar.

On the dresser, a small gold cross necklace that once never left her neck sits collecting dust. Whether it has been weeks – or merely days, it looks out of place away from the nape it usually sits in. But then again, April feels so out of place in the world lately that pondering on the loss of an object seems trivial.

As she leaves her bedroom to head over to the hospital, a small book has been tossed into a corner, its position behind the couch showing evidence it was likely thrown there in a moment of anger - its pages that once held up the truths she lived her life by.

"Come on, get out." She reminds the man that's made himself all-too comfortable in her bed.

Glancing back at his figure on her bed, she almost feels bad for kicking him out, but he'd known when he had fallen asleep there the night before that he wasn't meant to.

If sadness had been what she'd felt in the last few weeks, she didn't feel much now. And while she'd always imagined that sadness is the heaviest feeling one will ever come to know, she'd come to realize that there is absolutely nothing heavier on the soul than the weightlessness of emptiness bearing down on one's self.

She puts away the empty bottles of wine she'd found comfort in as of late, stuffing them into a trash bag frantically. The sound each glass bottle makes as they echo against each other as she puts them away doesn't help the pounding headache she is nursing.

Putting the bag down, she brings a hand to her temple, trying to wean herself off of the imminent waves of shock the aftermath of drowning her thoughts in alcohol brings on.

To anyone that doesn't know her, the sight could almost garner some sympathy. A woman that had a few too much to drink, and by the looks of it; not for the first day in a row. But to people that _do_ know her, the sight is damn near deplorable. Except no one is looking.

.

* * *

.

"I'll need your proposals by tomorrow." April says nonchalantly to the group of doctors that has gathered around her. "You've know about this for weeks."

Once again clutching her temples, she adjusts her sunglasses – that she's wearing inside, a new trend she'd decided on when the fluorescent hospital lights had become an obvious impossibility. The Grey-Sloan contest had begrudgingly been dropped onto her lap, and although her mind had strayed elsewhere in recent weeks, she still needed to make sure it was running smoothly.

"Okay, but who's judging this thing? Not just you, right?" Jackson's question pierces through the doctors' chatting.

She narrows her eyes at him, glad to see his lack of common sense in the last few months has persevered. "This is a world class hospital and a multi-million dollar contest; of course it's not just me. I've assembled an esteemed panel of renowned surgeons in Seattle, and I expect you to not waste our time. So, I suggest you get to work instead of asking me questions that are answered _by the paper in your hands."_

The headache's now in full force and one dumber question may push her off the edge. Deciding that it's in the best interest of her sanity, and also as she strongly suspects her head _may actually explode_ – against all medical knowledge she has ever learnt - she removes herself from the doctors' incessant questions. Sighing in relief when it's finally quiet again, she silently curses herself for not choosing neuro like she'd once set upon, so that she could lock herself in a lab and magically find the cure to the cacophony in her head.

A few feet away, Amelia Shepherd can't help but narrow her eyes at the redhead. A former alcoholic, she recognizes what a hangover looks like, and has an eye for when they look particularly bad. _Drinking bender_ bad.

"Hey!" she calls out, catching up to her.

April's startled, mostly because the two have ever hardly exchanged anything further than common curtsey, and the fact that her former mentor's sister intimidates her to some extent.

"You look like crap." She observes, making April's eyebrows dart upwards from behind her large shades. "Just, have an Alka-Seltzer and get on an IV drip, it's not going to go away on its own. Trust me."

"Thanks."

Even once April retreats into the corridor, Amelia doesn't know what made her speak to her. Sure, she's Owen's protégé and close friend, but the two of them had never had a close relationship of their own. And yet, seeing her in this state reminds her of her own reflection that would sneer back at her all those years ago, when alcohol and substances seemed like the only way to feel alive.

She looks back to see if Jackson had looked over at April at all, wondering if her ex-husband had maybe caught wind of what was going on with a woman she had once heard – only in rumours and tequila laughs, that he'd had a whirlwind love story with.

Alas, he looks engulfed in a conversation with Maggie, completely oblivious to the train wreck that had just presented herself in front of him.

 _If this is love_ , she thinks, _then I don't want it._ And she wonders if Owen would also react like that, a few years down the line, if the ghost of a person he once cherished was stood right in front of him.

Casting one last glance to the locks of red that are darting down a corner, she knows she cannot let her past become someone else's future. That the demons she fought, cannot find their darkness in someone else.

.

* * *

 _._

 _"Oh my gosh - Dr Bailey, it would be an honour to help you with this presentation. Actually, I've already made some notes!" she chirps._

 _Jackson looks at his wife from the corner of his eyes, admiring her good mood this early in the morning. She must feel his smile on her, as she turns around to meet his gaze._

 _There is no malice in this exchange, not a hint of the darkness that's to come. She walks over to him, triumphantly throwing her hands up in the air._

 _"Did you hear? Bailey needs help with a presentation on our Religion and how it interacts with medicine. I mean - I was born to do this."_

 _While people at Grey-Sloan Memorial often overlooked the redhead, she brought sunshine everywhere with her. As though she carried it, as though she embodied it. And watching her beam, her rays bringing warmth to the darkest parts of his soul, he finds himself thinking he never wants to know what being in the shade feels like again._

 _He wraps his arms around her waist, smiling down at her petite form. "How did I marry such a brilliant surgeon?"_

 _She giggles, "God knew what he was doing."_

 _Rolling his eyes while maintaining a smile he didn't know would end up becoming a rarity, "Yeah, or I had to interrupt her barn wedding."_

 _He closes the gap between them and plants a quick kiss on her lips. It's not a remarkable kiss by any means, a symbolism of habit, of their love, of his assurance that when she gets home, he will be there._

 _A see you later._

 _._

* * *

.

"You're going to have to tell me that again. He _stood up_? In front of everyone?"

Alex continues shoving fries into his mouth, amused by Amelia's incredulous tone. "Gave her a speech in front of all of us about how they were meant to be together or some crap. I couldn't make it up if I tried to."

"Hey. What are you guys speaking about?" Arizona chimes in, putting down her tray.

"Telling her Avery's wedding crasher moment. She's never heard it."

She lets out a sad sigh, "Oh God. Don't remind me. The ex-fiancé's wife died on our operating table last month."

"You're telling me." Amelia starts, "that April's ex-fiancé's wife died here a few weeks ago? And the husband is here – with a baby who could have well ended up with a full head of red hair?"

"That's pretty funny." Alex snorts.

"What's funny?"

They look up as Jackson sits down with his own food, and Alex can't remove the bemused grin that's spread all over his face at the situation. Finally, Arizona looks at him and answers. "I'm just telling them Matthew is here."

"Matthew?" And then he remembers that a month ago he'd also been here, and that he hadn't even bothered to ask April how their conversation had gone. Stuffing lettuce between the buns of his burger, he can't help but note the silence at the table. Looking up at all of them, as though he'd missed something everyone else seems to be on, he dubiously asks, "What?"

.

* * *

.

She is paged to the E.R, where an incoming trauma has her running to the gurney, listening as the paramedics tell her the extent of the patient's injuries. A burn victim, with half of her arm and torso covered in what looks like painful third degree burns. Moving fast, she orders them around as they bring the patient into a room.

"Page plastics!" she yells out as she looks down onto the woman that is wincing in pain on the bed below her. "Hi, I'm Dr Kepner. We're going to take good care of you," she turns to the paramedic, " _what_ happened?"

The woman is petite, and pretty. Her long blonde hair has been pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her facial expression makes her look small, mousy almost. "Trying to clean this stupid barbecue so I could return it to Ben. Oh God – I mean, I've been putting it off for months, you know… My name is Laura, Laura Rey." Her thoughts trail off to different places, obviously dishevelled and in shock from the incident.

"Hey," April reaches out to put her hand on her shoulder, "we've got you, Laura. It's okay. Is there anyone I can call?"

"No, I mean, my whole family is in Boston, I only moved here for him and then everything happened and now here I am…" she gestures to her wounded flesh, "so I guess, I guess you can call him. My ex-husband, Ben. Tell him what happened, and if he doesn't want to come, then just tell him his barbecue is ready to be picked up."

April smiles empathetically at the woman's remark, noting down his number so she can tell a nurse to contact Ben. For a brief moment, she wonders about him. What his reaction will be, if he'll rush down to the hospital to see the woman that was once his wife, or simply apologise and blame a busy schedule, rendering her alone. These small nit bits, glances into people's lives, are what they don't tell you at medical school. They prepare you for the medical side, ensuring that you will be prepared for any and every scenario, but they fail to tell you that the symptoms you are treating belong to real people with real lives beyond the walls of the hospital.

As she walks out of the room, her shoulders brush against Jackson as he enters it, the plastics consult she had requested. She briefly brings him up to date on Laura's injuries, and just like that he walks through the door as she walks out.

Outside, she walks towards the nurses' station and gives them the information they need. Mindlessly, she grabs a tablet and files away as she updates Laura's chart and checks her other patients' vitals.

When Jackson walks out of the patient's room a half hour later, she is still stood there, leaning against the counter as she is lost in the screen behind her eyes.

He hesitates, his interaction an hour earlier still fresh into his mind, but he's not ready to speak to her about it. His apprehension of speaking to her is a new habit he's developed, one that would have once seemed so trivial when she used to be his late night whispers and early morning secrets. Finally, he makes up his mind and walks over to her.

He leans his hand and grabs a tablet next to her, as her green eyes stay fixed on her own screen. Clearing his throat, he starts, "So, she was already knocked out from morphine when I walked out. How'd it happen?"

Taken back by his attempt at small-talk, she almost wants to chuckle. He'd never been much of a people-person, avoiding small talk like it was the plague.

She looks up at him, a deadpan expression on her face. "Her ex-husband's barbecue."

"Wait – what?"

"She wanted to give it back to him _clean_ , and well, clearly didn't know how to turn the gas off properly."

"Oh, oh." He shakes his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "yeah, that makes more sense. For a split-second I was picturing a pretty big police case against the guy."

The quick banter between them is awkward, like they've both missed the punch line to a joke that neither one made.

He looks down at her, and he realises that he hasn't properly looked at her in a long time. Maybe it's the conversation he just shared with someone he used to envy with every bone in his body in a quiet ICU that makes him stare. Maybe. His eyes fall onto her neck, where the absence of a familiar gold necklace catches his eye.

Sure, it's just a piece of jewellery, but he'd known her for years, and it was the first time he'd been met with the sight of her bare neck.

Truthfully, it's none of his concern if she isn't wearing a certain necklace, and he's made his best efforts in the last few months to remain on neutral grounds with her. Actually, he'd made it _very_ clear to her that their personal lives didn't need to mingle in any other way than casual chat about their work and daughter. But he may as well ask, just in case, just -

"Jackson! I've been looking for you everywhere!" Maggie's voice cuts through his thoughts like glass. Instinctively, her turns towards the woman he's been casually seeing and half-listens as she starts telling him something.

 _April,_ a voice that has been quiet for so long says. But as soon as he turns back, she's already gone.

.

* * *

 _._

 _He's watching her leave, her boxes all neatly piled into the back of her car. After Montana, a hope had lingered on every touch they'd exchanged… and yet, he'd never spoken any of those whispers out loud._

 _Sometimes, she even asked herself if it had been a feverish dream, as though a manic induced vision would be the only plausible explanation for his reluctance to ever mention their encounter again._

 _But it hadn't been a dream, and for her, living with him had turned into a nightmare. She turns to him sadly, giving him one last look as they acknowledge it is time for her to go. She's only moving a few blocks away, but it suddenly feels like worlds apart._

 _He steps forward and almost says something, almost asks her to stay. Almost. Almost. Always almost._

 _But she senses that this is the end of a chapter they had both been reluctant to close, yet his fondness for reading other stories had made her ready to finally end it._

 _You can stay, he thinks. You can stay and we can work this out._

 _But roommates aren't supposed to pretend they're a married couple, not when they once were._

" _Jackson, you are my friend and you are my family," she bites her lip, not wanting to cry, "But you are no longer my husband."_

 _This is for the best._

 _._

* * *

.

The conference room is dimly lit when he walks in, her familiar red hair sprawled over a stack of documents as she concentrates on what she's writing.

"Hey."

Her head cocks up in surprise, not used to seeing Jackson initiating any conversation with her since he'd found a new person to distract himself. A younger, more spontaneous, less complicated model. She looks at him, acknowledging his presence, and then goes back to what she is writing.

"Look, I know that it's none of my business... but I spoke to Matthew today. He asked me how our kids were," he furrows his brows, "said he hopes we're happy."

Out of everything April didn't want to deal with at this particular instance, Jackson's accusative yet curious tone was at the very top of the list.

"You're right," she finally says, "it _is_ none of your business."

For a moment, they are both plunged in what seems like an interminable silence. He looks confused, almost taken back by her harsh tone. Albeit, he had not been the kindest to her in the last few months, but their history always served as a shield for him to hide under when he needed to let out his anger on someone. Now that it's the other way around, he finds the change of pace unsettling.

"Why didn't you tell him?" his question comes out more forward than he intends to.

It felt almost as though they had stumbled into an alternate reality, where the man he once envied for holding his best friend's heart was now just a past story. Matthew still lived in the reality where Jackson had whisked April away because he wanted to. Because he _needed_ to. Because when two people are meant to be together, waiting for the universe to align is not enough.

And yet Jackson is stuck in this one, where he is divorced from the girl who was once his favourite person in the world. In this reality, he is standing two feet away from her, but they have worlds between them.

April stands up and gathers the files she'd been working on into her bag, swinging it across onto her shoulder. She doesn't need to deal with this, to deal with him.

"For what it's worth, I was still holding on to the small sliver of faith that my life hadn't exploded into a tiny million pieces. For a few minutes, I just wanted to pretend like I had two beautiful kids and that I'd married the love of my life. I held on to a small bit of hope." She picks up her last folder, and before walking out of the door, turns back, "Don't worry, there isn't any left."

.

.

.

* * *

.

Hi! Let me just start by saying I'm so excited to write my first multi-chapter fic. I'm not sure about the chapter count yet, but I think I'd like to keep it under 10, with longer installments instead.

This started as a one-shot that ended up being well over 12,000 words, so I decided I'd split it into chapters and some more things I wouldn't have been able to with a one-shot. Also, my inability to put this arc into 10,000 words truly shows how deeply the writers have tried to hurt this relationship this season.

I'm so intrigued by April's storyline this season (for the first time in a long time), and like many of you, am very frustrated with how they are portraying Jackson's character. I hope you understand I've tried to keep his character as canon as possible in this fic, and it hurts me every time I have to write an asshole Jackson scene. But where there is bad characterization, there is _redemption_ , and that's what you guys can expect! I promise it won't all be dark and angsty!

Please remember to leave a comment if you liked this chapter and follow the story if you want to see where it goes.

 _Also_ , I'm clearly hinting at a new friendship for April. Because, you know, she deserves good people around her.

Thank you!

P.S Every chapter is named after which song I believe fits the mood the best (and which I overplayed while writing it.) This time it's **Oceans by Seafret.**


	2. Chapter 2: Runaway

**Chapter 2: Runaway**

And I was running far away  
Would I run off the world someday?  
Nobody knows, nobody knows  
And I was dancing in the rain  
I felt alive and I can't complain  
But now take me home  
 **Take me home where I belong  
I can't take it anymore**

" _Look, I never thought I'd say this… mostly because I usually punch you in my dreams – the good ones. But I hope you two are happy together."_

" _What?"_

 _Matthew continues, "You and April. I know you have two children together, and it's been, what, 3 years?"_

 _Jackson looks at him,_

 _ **You are my friend and you are my family.**_

" _April and I got divorced."_

 _ **But you are no longer my wife.**_

" _I don't understand." Matthew replies blankly, once again bewildered by the relationship that once caused him so much pain._

 _Jackson is now awkwardly shuffling on his feet, "We got um, a divorce, after our son died."_

 _It seems out of place, this revelation coming out of his mouth, so much so that when he hears it, he can't help but almost believe that it's someone else's life he is speaking about. Matthew looks at him in disbelief, then slowly, pieces together the last few years of their lives._

 _But instead of Matthew's general peaceful demeanour, which had once annoyed Jackson to no ends as he envied the man, his stare is now shooting daggers at the surgeon. He'd interrupted his wedding, stunting him emotionally for the rest of his life and humiliating him at the same time, and all for… for this? For a divorce?_

" _The thing is," his voice is now low, dangerously mean, "if you hadn't been so selfish, I would have never met Karen. Sure, my life would look a lot different, but at least she would be out there. Healthy. Alive."  
_

" _I –"_

" _I think you should get out."_

 _Jackson isn't the confrontation type, and annoyed April's lies got him here in the first place, he nods and turns around. His annoyance is clear – why did she have to lie? To pretend like the last years of their lives hadn't happened? Always an enigma. Always infuriating. Always her._

 _As Jackson is about to walk through the door, Matthew's voice cuts the silence of the quiet chatters and NICU machines around them. "Avery. Are you sorry? That you did it, I mean. Are you sorry?"_

 _But that's a question Jackson doesn't have an answer to._

 _._

* * *

.

"What we _need,_ is enough money for this project to go forward." Alex continues.

April looks at him compassionately, "I understand that, but it really isn't up to me. There's a whole panel that decides which of the projects go forward, and the other judges just thought the other subjects had more promise."

Amelia rolls her eyes as all three of them stare at the head CT that has just come through. Their plan to eradicate Kimmy's tumour by shattering it had in turn been shattered itself when they hadn't been chosen to get the $100,000 in seed money.

"We could just ask the Avery board directly." April chimes in again.

Amelia laughs, "It would keep Avery from buying another boat."

They all smile, but looking at the tumour that's lodged itself in the young girl's head makes all of their stomachs twists. Is this what He wants? April quietly asks herself about God. Children whose dreams are crushed by their health?

They continue talking about the cases they've had this week, regular conversations that doctors have when trying to make sense of the unjust truths they are faced with every single day.

"My patient burnt half of her body by cleaning her ex's barbecue."

"Why?"

"Something about needing a new start."

Alex sighs, standing up as he grabs his drink, "I'm over that crazy love crap."

"Karev," Amelia smiles, "didn't you almost go to prison for the woman you love a few months ago?"

"Whatever." He replies nonchalantly, but the three of them laugh.

.

* * *

.

She looks at the man she's just slept with, and by all means, he's _attractive_ , but she can't help but feel like she wants nothing more than to be alone in this moment. She pulls her top back on, her mind numb as she hears his distant voice chatter on about something she has zero interest in.

To be honest, she has no idea how she ended up in this position. All she knows is that the guilt she once felt has been replaced with a big, massive, _so what?_ She'd done the whole thing properly, stuck to one person – and it's not like it had affected the outcome of her life in any situation.

So if losing herself in the tangling of limbs and breathless moans is what's going to feel the empty void inside of her, then be it. It's not like He showed her any other way lately.

"April, did you hear anything of what I just said?" Vik looks at her.

When she looks up at him, her face is blank. Clearly blind to visual cues, he takes this as his invitation to continue his very one-sided conversation as her eyes look at him more closely.

It's not that he is uninteresting, she's sure that if she gave him a chance he could probably pique her interest in one way or another. This had always been a bad habit of hers; trying to find the good in everyone she met, trying to search for the one redeemable quality.

No, by any means, there isn't anything wrong with him, but there also isn't anything between them point blank. It's just sex, just a mindless act that allows her to forget what's on her mind for a little bit.

Finally, she looks up at him, "Get out." Her voice is cold, and the exchange takes him by surprise.

"I get that you're just using me for sex but –"

"I said, get out."

He narrows his eyes at her, every word coming out of his mouth dripping with a sincerity that makes her stomach turn, "I don't know why all my friends think you're so nice. You're a cold-hearted bitch."

As soon as she hears the door click behind him, a choked sob escapes her throat. She wishes it was full of emotion, but rather it's full of repulsion; at the world, at herself, at whatever the universe had decided to spite her with.

Like she's felt so much that she now feels nothing.

On the of the door, Jackson walks in front of the on-call rooms towards the attending's lounge when he bumps into the younger doctor, a clear dishevelled look as he struggles to rearrange his scrubs. _Ah._ He thinks. _I know what you were up to._

The thought is fleeting, and he's ready to continue his path when he hears a distinct sob coming from inside the room the man had left just instants before.

He freezes.

Of course, he knows she would eventually move on, find someone else. Heck, he'd hardly made his interest in Maggie a secret, perhaps dangling it in front of her eyes maybe a little too much. But as much as the sight of what he knows has happened makes his stomach flip, the sound of her tears rushes him to the door, and he has one hand on the handle when,

He freezes again.

He knows that as much as he wants to go in there and ask her if everything is okay, it's not his place to. Before their fight about Matthew, they'd barely exchanged anything about their personal lives since she'd moved out of their apartment. Sure, they spoke, but the conversations were either about Harriet or full of empty chatter.

For a few moments, he wonders how long he's been shutting her off, how long she's been crying in on-call rooms and he's been God-knows-where, blind and careless to her feelings. _You are my friend and my family_ , she'd said.

He's still annoyed at the way their conversation about Matthew played out, annoyed that she lied to him to keep up a perfect front. _I held on to a small bit of hope._ But their hopes had been crushed over and over again when their relationship exploded into pieces, and she couldn't just ignore that. But now, his forehead pressed against the wood that separates him from who he is to whom he could be, he becomes almost more irritated with her. For making him care, for making him want to barge in and stomp all over the neutral ground he'd carefully curated with her. Feeling annoyed at her is one more feeling he doesn't want. Doesn't _need._

His hand moves from the handle to rest on the door's frame, his forehead stays in place leaning against it as his heart twists. But it isn't his place to barge in, it hasn't been in a long time and he'd made it crystal clear to her. _But you are no longer my husband_ , she'd turned away.

They were neither on good terms or bad terms. They were no longer anything.

.

* * *

.

After what happens between them in the conference room, she doesn't speak to him again, only exchanging common courtesy when she picks up Harriet at his apartment. Truthfully, there is so much on her mind that she is almost glad he's been too much of a coward to make eye contact with her. After all, it wasn't like him to bring up things he didn't feel comfortable speaking about, something she had painfully learned after Montana.

Sometimes, when the air is cold and the room is dark, she wonders where the awe-eyed boy she once knew went. If after all, it'd been her fault, that she'd taken the stars out of his eyes and brought coldness to his heart. He used to despise his name, the heavy weight of legacy and the medical world's eyes that burdened him so deeply. But nowadays, he embraces it. He even seems to _like it,_ she thinks – and wonders if maybe she'd been wrong about him for all these years.

" _I don't know if I can ever live up to my name." he tells her quietly, in the moments between life's happenings._

" _You just need to live up to be your best self."_

But there is no point thinking about someone that isn't there anymore. She knows him now like a fleeting thought, hard in passing but gone just as easily.

Days go by where she is once again engulfed in work, and before she knows it she is enjoying her last night with Harriet as the week comes to closure. In the room she'd set up for the toddler in her apartment, she looks in awe as Harriet peaceful rests on her chest.

She's rocking in a chair placed by her crib, where she should really be putting her daughter to sleep soon, but she just wants to enjoy a few more instants with her. Watching as her breath hitches every now and then, her thumb inside of her mouth, April can't help but think that she is the embodiment of peace.

On days where she is at Jackson's, April still walks into her bedroom and has to remind herself that she is coming back. Unlike when she used to enter Samuel's bedroom and feel a literal punch inside of her gut when she would remember he wouldn't ever come home, that the room she'd picked out with Jackson would remain vacant.

While a young April Kepner had had a lot of dreams, being a mother was one she had daydreamt about for long hours, thinking of the picket fence and her children playing on their swing set. Looking around the small apartment, it's a far cry from the vision she'd once had.

And, yet, Harriet is still the greatest accomplishment of her life. If everything around her is surrounded by a cloud of uncertainty, her daughter is the light that keeps her grounded. She is the reason why she gets up every morning, desperate to spend as much time with her as possible.

She remembers the weeks following her giving birth, where all she had was time with Harriet. It felt overwhelming, almost, and the boredom that had crept up on her was welcomed with a rush of relief. Boredom meant that Harriet was perfectly healthy, that life was so okay it had become _boring._

For a month, Jackson took care of her as she laid in bed-rest due to her traumatic C-section on Meredith's kitchen table. While he was no longer her husband, they felt like a family. Harriet, Jackson and her.

Picking up Harriet and finally placing her in her powder-yellow crib, she traces the edges of the wood as she stares down at the most perfect thing that had ever happened to her.

And while she believed God had given her this blessing, it felt almost sour to believe He could offer her this much happiness after taking away so much from her. If He was there to help her, to guide her, then why would He rip an innocent child from her?

If there truly was a God out there that listened to her, why couldn't He hear her pleas to let her son come into the world?

Those questions haunt her for the rest of the night.

.

* * *

.

 _Leaning against one of the many long corridors in Seattle Grace-Mercy West, he sighs as exhaustion and grief take over his body._

 _There had been camera crews all day long at the hospital, scrutinizing the surviving doctors like they were war heroes. What had happened a few months prior was hardly heroic, if not the most traumatic event of his life._

 _She walks down the corridor when she finally spots him. After being interrogated and followed all day long by the cameras that longed to discover how the doctors were really doing since the shooting. We're getting by, she wants to say. We're just trying to understand how we're alive._ _Why_ _we're alive._

 _She approaches him and also sulks down onto the wall, finally breathing out a sigh of relief from the peace._

" _The pain that you've been feeling can't compare to the joy that's coming." She says in a whisper to herself, her eyes closed as she tries to steady her heartbeat from the events of the day._

" _Where is that from?" his eyes are closed too._

" _Romans 8:18"_

 _He opens one eyes to see the way her small frame is leaning against the wall, she looks slightly defeated, but if there's anything he's learnt about her through the years, it is her quiet determination._

" _That's oddly reassuring."_

" _Mhm…" her voice trails off as they enjoy this momentary moment of silence before they have to return to the chaos of real life, "Religion has a way of doing that."_

.

* * *

.

Joe's bar has started to fill up quite a bit, full of people winding down from the long week of work. Most jobs don't have life and death as one of the formalities that have to be dealt with each day, but medical staff is used to welcoming grief as a normal part of finishing their shifts.

She has to bump into a few people to order another drink, a whiskey on the rocks. She's always been much more of a beer girl, but Jackson had turned her onto this drink that helped take the edge off a little bit more and with each round, she feels herself start to feel better.

Looking around the room, it's not hard to spot him. He's leaned against a stool, playing darts as he casually has his arm draped around Maggie's waist. She's not sure what she feels, if it's a pang of bitterness or simply nostalgia, because years ago it'd been them in that position.

But she turns her head and takes a large sip of her drink, choosing instead to focus her attention on the handsome stranger that's making eyes at her.

An hour passes by with both of them engulfed in their new respective lives. As though their stories that had once been so entangled had finally managed to wretch themselves out from each other's grasp. In moments like these, these two people at opposite ends of the bar could look like strangers to anyone else in the crowd.

"I'm going to go get another drink." He walks away from the conversation he's having and towards the bar, where April is now standing up, asking for another drink as she sways to the music.

He stands next to her, partially because it's the only available spot to directly speak to the bartender, but a small part of him is curious, almost, after hearing her cry in an on-call room. It's odd, he thinks, that she's made a sudden reappearance in his thoughts.

But he's still annoyed at her for what's happened, and even more with himself for caring.

"Harriet's with my mother." He motions the bartender over.

It takes her a second to register where the voice is coming from, "Good."

There is an awkward pause between them, and he almost wants to slap himself for even starting a conversation neither one involved wanted to be a part of. After all these months, standing next to her somewhere that isn't the hospital or the brief seconds when they exchange their time with Harriet seems… odd. Unfamiliar.

"You're stumbling" he notes.

"You're awfully observant." She looks up at him.

A smile threatens to creep onto his face, amused at her use of perfect grammar even when very obviously intoxicated.

" _I'm drunk." She giggles, and in his memories, she often looks like this. Smiling, sunshine all over like she's the one that controls its rays._

" _I know." He smiles_

" _You're my best friend."_

 _Their voices are hushed, not wanting to wake up Alex. They'd been studying until late, and tequila had suddenly looked more appealing than flash-cards as the night progressed._

 _He takes her hand and gives it a small kiss, nothing behind his intentions other than his unending appreciation for the redhead sat giggling in front of him._

" _You are too."_

The exchange between them is over as quickly as it had come, his beer being handed to him as she turns back into the conversation she was having with a man he'd never seen before.

He walks back to Maggie, shrugging off the unfamiliar feeling in his gut.

Moments pass when the atmosphere of the bar engulfs him and he is finally able to lose himself from his own thoughts, enjoying the slight buzz he receives from the few beers he's had. He can't tell whether it's been a half hour or two hours, but all he knows is that he's finally enjoying himself like he hasn't been able to for the last week.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, he's been worrying about April for a few days, annoyed that her own problems had started to overlap into his own life. It shouldn't annoy him, knowing that she's sleeping with other people, it's not like he isn't. It's just… new.

"We should get out of here soon." Maggie smiles up at him.

When he looks at her, he feels neither happy nor sad. It's nice, he thinks, to see someone that doesn't make his skin crawl, that doesn't drive him to absolute insanity at every move. He'd had the whole passion thing, the I-can't-live-without-you story, and it ended up destroying him. So this was nice. Just nice.

"Your place?"

"Sure."

For some reason he may never know, he looks over to where the redhead is now stumbling, as the man he recognizes from before is pulling her by her arm.

He frowns, feeling the same feeling in his gut from earlier on. But it's none of his business, who she decides to… see.

Continuing to watch her as Maggie talks to him about something that doesn't quite register, he likes what he is seeing less and less. The last time he'd seen April this drunk, she had just failed her board exams and was dancing on tables at Meredith Grey's house.

Simpler times, he almost laughs, as those problems had once seemed like the end of the world.

Finally, he looks at Maggie and mumbles a quick apology before heading towards where the unknown man is not urging April to the door.

As much as he doesn't want to get involved, his brain has gone into auto-pilot mode, deciding that while it _is_ none of his business, she is the mother of his child and after all, he would want to make sure any woman is alright while being dragged somewhere by a stranger.

Yes, he tells himself. That's it. It's not because it's her.

 _It is because it's her. It's always because it's her._

"Hey, what's going on here?" he brushes his hand on her shoulder.

"Jackson?" her confused face wrenches at his heart, because she's _surprised he's_ come to help her.

"Are you okay?"

The guy that has a hold over her arm gives him a sleazy one-over, "Look man, this is none of your concern. We're fine."

"No, I think this is my concern." He looks at April once again, and she looks lost. "Are you okay?" he repeats.

"I, uh. I'm pretty drunk." She's slurring her words and struggles to even stay up, and he can't help but want to punch the guy for thinking this is an appropriate state for taking a girl home.

"Get out of here." He snarls at the guy, who's freed his hand from her arm, "Before I tell people you were trying to take advantage of her."

The guy throws his hands up in exasperation as he starts to leave, "Fine, fine. She basically threw herself at me."

Once the door rings close, he turns his attention onto April, and he sighs in exasperation at the fact that she would put herself in this state in the first place. Looking at the way she's managed to drink her way out of conscious decisions, a small part of him wonders if he's missed something, if her crying in the on-call room also has something to do with her current state.

"Let's get you a cab home." But his voice is tender, and he can't help but wonder why the annoyance he feels doesn't wash over the words he speaks to her.

She shrugs his hand off of her shoulder, "I can take care of myself."

"Clearly."

"Look," she stumbles a bit more and he instinctively place his hand on her waist, "I… I'm fine on my own." The rest of her sentence falls like a whisper, surprised by his sudden touch.

"April," his voice his more gentle now, as though he is holding something precious, "let me take you home."

His hand is still on her waist when she nods, and together they walk out of the bar as he hails a cab that they both get into.

It's not until he's in the taxi that he realises it didn't even daunt on him to apologise to Maggie, or even tell her where he's going. But those thoughts go away once she leans her head of warm red curls onto his shoulders. The journey to her apartment is silent, but neither of them mind.

By the time they reach her building, she is fast asleep against him. Trying to stir her after he has paid for the taxi proves to be impossible, so he settles on the next best thing.

He carries her.

All the way to her small fourth floor apartment, where he grabs the keys from her purse, smiling at the ridiculously large keychain shaped like a rabbit she has decided to attach to it.

Once they're inside, he carefully puts her down on the bed, and a feeling of fondness at the absurd amount of throw pillows April has decided to decorate her bedroom with washes over him. Once he's finally freed his arms from her, he can't help but linger for a second on the bed, grabbing one of the green velvet pillows he recognizes from their shared apartment together.

The room is decorated with pictures of April's family, of Harriet, and in the corner, behind a few other picture frames, there's a picture of… him. Granted, it was taken by his mother on one of her visits to Seattle, when she'd come to visit them at their apartment and had said they _looked so cute_ and _so much like a family_ that she just _had to_ take a picture of them.

It doesn't look as out of place from the other smiling pictures as he would have imagined, instead, his grinning face next to hers looks like it belongs in the sea of picture frames.

He thinks of his own apartment, where the only evidence that she'd once lived there is a mug adorned with flowers he's held onto, holding onto the last living symbol of their once shared lives. Just like their patient's barbecue, Jackson holds onto the mug as the last anchor between himself and April.

 _You're ridiculous,_ he thinks.

She stirs, her eyes sleepily opening up to see him looking around her bedroom. She thinks it must be a dream, a cruel twist of faith where life likes to remind her of someone that once held up her world.

"Thank you." She whispers, because if this isn't a vision, and if she doesn't remember, she wants him to know.

"Always." He replies, but both of their chests drop, because they both know that isn't true.

There is a small silence between them that's uncomfortable, as he suddenly finds himself wondering how they ended up like this. But she won't remember this in the morning, and he finds himself reassured by the notion that their relationship can go back to its new normal.

He can go back to forgetting about the way he would do anything in the world for her.

She stirs and gives him a final look before turning her back to the other side, nuzzling into her pillow. "I can see it in your eyes."

"What?"

"When you look at me," she says, her voice heavy and on the cusp of falling back asleep, "you don't see the girl you loved. You see the girl you left."

.

 **.**

.

* * *

I cannot tell you _how_ happy all of your reviews, follows and favourites have made me over the weekend! So much so that I spent the last two days making sure I could get this update to you as quick as possible.

A special shout out to the reviewer that told me she wanted to see Matthew and Jackson's conversation, I gave you a little glimpse of it.

I'm sorry for all the angst, but these two working things out so easily would make zero sense at the moment considering the direction that the show is going. I hope that the last scene made up for it a little bit :)

Please keep reviewing and telling me what you like, what you want to see and anything else that comes through your mind! If you want me to answer or clear something up, my tumblr is also queenkepner (and I also post too much Japril on there.)

This chapter's song is **Runaway, by Aurora** , and I suggest you too overplay it because it's just amazing and fits them perfectly.


	3. Chapter 3: Cowards

**Chapter 3:** Cowards

Never mind the power

Never mind the games

You and me, we're cowards

Never mind the shame

Cause I'll be waiting for you

At the pearly gates

Baby, I adore you

But **I'm afraid to say**

" _That's it. I'm done with dating apps."_

 _She flunks herself down on the sofa next to him, gleefully grabbing a handful of the cheesy nachos that rest on his lap. He shoots her a stare that is meant as a glare, but comes out softer than intended. "You just need to dip your toe in."_

" _That's easy for you to say," her mouth is full, and he can't help but think about how young she looks, her green eyes and face scrunching up as she teases him, "you've probably dipped your toes all over town."_

 _He rolls his eyes, grabbing the plate from her as he gives her a small nudge, "give the guy a chance."_

 _She stands up, sighing, and he instantly regrets urging her to go. Truthfully, he'd rather sit on the couch next to her all night, talking, laughing, just basking in the comfort of each other's company. But he's the one that asked for a divorce, and now he almost feels guilty for keeping her to himself in their apartment._

 _By the time she reaches her bedroom's door, she's still huffing and talking about how much she can't be bothered to go. In moments like these, she looks too young to be in her thirties, too young to be divorced and burdened with starting over a new life. Being a doctor entails sacrificing a large portion of the years meant to be spent carelessly, and her clumsy endeavours in online dating painstakingly remind him of it._

 _She's never really dated, there was him, and then Matthew, and then anyone in on the rumour mill at Grey-Sloan Memorial, or yet, anyone with ears in the weeks following her wedding could tell you the rest._

 _When she walks out of her bedroom, messy hair tamed into the curls he always longed to stroke, and a green dress that stops right above her knee, he knows he shouldn't have pushed her to go._

Stay. With me.

" _I know, it looks ridiculous." She throws her hands up in the air, "But I don't have any more time, so it's going to have to do."_

 _The way she dismisses his gaze, unable to see the undeniable awe he is in as he takes in the way the green dress hugs her curves perfectly… how can she not see? How can she possibly think that he's teasing her when all he wants to do is keep her all to himself?_

" _Have fun." He finally says, and it does not even begin to encompass what he actually wants to say._

 _Every time the door closes behind her, his heart reminisces of the times where she would leave only to return months later. He thinks about how he sat in their apartment alone, the weight of a thousand nightmares weighing down on him as he struggled to make sense of a situation that didn't._

 _When she finally leaves, he looks down at the plate of nachos that had looked so appetizing only a half hour before, but he sets them aside, his appetite gone._

 _._

* * *

 _._

Three days. That's how long April's words incessantly ring through his ears until he's able to make eye-contact with her again when she passes him as she leaves their patient's room.

The room has been filled with the most bouquets he thinks he's _ever_ seen in a patient's room, and he knows for a fact that the perky redhead that just walked past him has something to do with the fact they've all been allowed to stay in the room.

"How are you feeling today?"

The woman lying down looks up at him with a hopeful smile. "Better."

He moves aside some of the bandaging to examine how her burns are healing, frowning slightly at a small abrasion that's formed on the scar tissue. "I'm just going to send this to the lab, but it shouldn't be anything to worry about."

He stands back up, making a mental note that he needs to speak to a nurse about the abrasion so they can get some quick results. She looks slightly worried, but catches the way his eyes look over the room, startled by all the flowers.

"It's my ex-husband," she says, chuckling, "I guess he's sorry that it was his barbecue, you know."

"I can tell." He smiles, noting some details on her chart.

She looks up at him, "We got married so young, divorce seemed the easy way out… but he's still my best friend."

.

* * *

.

" _When did you decide that it was over?" Her voice drops with the fury that burns in her green eyes, but behind the fiery tone she is shouting at him with, behind the act and the anger, he sees it. The hurt._

 _But fuck, he's practically unravelled himself right in front of her eyes for the past year, and this time he knows his heart can't take another blow. It doesn't feel real yet, him asking for a divorce. Sure, they'd discussed it since she came back from Jordan, but every time he'd been with her, his mind wandered elsewhere._

 _Her soft features look sharp under the fluorescent hospital lights. In this face that has become so familiar to him over the years, he still sees the best years of his life. The joy, the pain – and everything else that came in between that made him feel so alive._

 _He tries to explain to her that it's been inevitable all along, but it almost feels like he has to convince himself too. I want you, April, he'd told her a few weeks prior. And yet this is where they'd ended up, laying out battle wounds in the open, tearing each other down one last time._

 _As he watches her lower lip tremble from the wave of shock and sadness, he too wonders if he'll ever be the same person. If he will ever be able to look at himself in the mirror again without feeling repulsion at the man he had become._

 _But she'd left him. Their son had died, and she'd fled halfway across the world. Not only did he have to deal with the death of his son, but every passing day he wondered if his person would die too. So when she'd told him she was going back, he had known that their marriage would not be able to survive it, that_ he _wouldn't be able to survive it._

 _Maybe in another life._

" _We keep having the same conversation." He tells her, and it's true. They only work when neither of them are speaking, when neither of them can try to fumble through the apologies they both yearn for. Maybe it's because they are both reluctant to say sorry, or maybe it's because they know that it's too late to say sorry when you've hurt the other person beyond repair. Sorry doesn't begin to cover wounds that are still so fresh._

" _Do you have any idea what kind of slap in the face this is?" she snaps him out of his trance._

 _There isn't any version of the past in which he could have imagined them getting to this place. He'd done the whole thing – followed his heart, fought for the love of his life, started a family. And for what? For two broken people to keep tearing each other down?_

I love you _, he thinks to himself as he walks away._ I just don't like you anymore.

.

* * *

.

Jackson knows she's pissed the second she puts her tray down next to Meredith's a little to briskly. He looks at her, ready to take whatever is coming.

"Look, I'm not this kind of girl. I'm not okay with you leaving me there like some garbage on the side of the street." Maggie's voice is hindered with anger, he can tell that much. He looks around the table as Meredith and Alex make a point to keep their eyes fixated on the food on their trays.

"I didn't mean to, I just forgot."

She shoots him a glare, "Where did you even go?"

There's a silence at the table that, in all his years to come, Jackson would only ever be able to describe as _dead awkward._ He doesn't really want to tell her, because he knows all too well how bad it sounds, but also because some part of him likes that it's his and April's small secret. It's not much of one – but it is one thing they share, and lately, there hasn't been many of those.

He doesn't particularly know what's gotten into him since he took her home, since he heard her cry in the on- call room, since she told him that all of her hopes had been shattered. All he knows is that he finds himself thinking about her more than he intends to, and not just during lonely nights where the darkness of his bedroom engulfs him and he has all the time to think. No, he finds himself thinking about her during conversations, or when he is operating, or just going about his day. Thinking about her when he is lonely is something he'd grown accustomed to, but thinking about her when he is busy is something else.

Finally, while still facing his food, he says "I had to take April home."

That's when Meredith and Alex finally decide to look up from their own plates and at Maggie and Jackson, exchanging a clumsy glance, probably wishing they could be anything but at this particular table right now.

"I'm not this kind of girl."

But he's so tired of the green eyes that have haunted his every step for the last couple of weeks. He doesn't _want_ to reopen old wounds – to unravel the carefully curated indifference he has spent so long putting up around himself.

So, instead of the green eyes and red hair and sobs that puncture his every though, he straightens himself out and grabs Maggie's wrist just as she's about to storm out. "Look, she was really drunk, you know how _weird_ she gets. It's April. I didn't mean to not tell you."

Maggie finally nods, walking away as Jackson breathes a sigh of… it's not relief. Alex looks up at him quizzically.

"What?" Jackson snaps.

Alex replies to him nonchalantly, but he may as well have just punched Jackson in the face, for it would have had the same effect. "It's just… odd, hearing you call Kepner weird."

 _No more calling her weird._

"I guess we're getting older." Meredith finishes.

The memory flickers in front of him like electricity, something disturbing about remembering a warm moment and feeling utterly cold.

.

* * *

.

 _He stares at her from the opposite end of the nurses' station, yearning eating away at him until he realizes he's been holding his breath ever since she'd arrived. She hasn't noticed him yet, and he isn't ready to speak to her yet._

 _She doesn't see it, the way he looks at her, like she's made of sunshine or something. The way he's absolutely mesmerized by her when she walks into any room. In his entire life, he'd never looked at anyone like that, he'd never felt such a hollow pit in his stomach at the thought of her getting married, his eyes boring holes into her small frame… and she can't even see it._

 _It'd been a week since the flash-mob proposal, since his best friend had been whisked away by someone that, by all means, is perfect for her._

" _He's the male Kepner" one of his colleagues had chimed._

 _And I'm just me, he'd thought._

 _But is your other half really meant to be like you? Or can two people with completely different lives mesh perfectly together, their broken parts fitting like a puzzle that'd been waiting to be solved for years._

 _But she's his best friend, and that's all._

 _Finally, she spots him and he swears she almost skips to him, beaming in her usual way. "Jackson! I've been looking for you!" She puts her hand on his arm, a gesture that shouldn't make his heart start racing the way it does._

 _It's funny how touch can stay with you— even when memories twist and change to fit the bittersweet present, how the feel of a slender hand and gentle fingers can leave echoes on your skin even years later._

 _._

* * *

 _._

In retrospect, Jackson _was_ right, April doesn't remember much of how she'd gotten home that night from Joe's bar. She remembers, however, his gaze looking around her bedroom, at her apartment, and eventually – for much too long, at her.

Walking up to her apartment with Harriet in his arms, he looks down at his phone buzzing,

 _Maggie Pierce_ is calling.

He presses the silence button for the second time today, refusing to acknowledge the floodgate of emotions that had seemed to come seeping into his memory. He still can't brush off how broken she had looked – small and delicate and _alone_ in his arms as he'd brought her home. She'd been physically there, of course, but her mind seemed to be galaxies away.

 _You don't see the girl you loved._

He wonders if it's true. If for these past few months, the emotional barriers he's put over his heart have prevented him for seeing her for who she is. He thinks of her small voice as she tells him what she sees in his eyes, and if he really has gotten so carried away with forgetting about their history that he's forgotten what she meant to him. If he only truly had been seeing the girl he'd left, instead of April Kepner.

 _You see the girl you left._

Walking up the four flight of stairs he had seen three nights prior, he clutches Harriet, ready to speak to his ex-wife as he knocks on her door.

"Hey." She opens the door, rubbing her eyes. "Hi sweet girl." She smiles at Harriet, taking her into her arms as she grabs Harriet's bag from Jackson's hands. "Thank you." She doesn't even look up at him as she starts to close the door.

Startled, he blurts out, "April."

She vaguely remembers his voice that sounded like moonlight and comfort, drawing circles onto her arm and boring holes into her heart as he sat next to her in bed. She can't help but feel embarrassed that it'd slipped her mind, and even further mortified when she realises the burden she must have been for him to bring her back home.

"Thank you for taking me home."

He awkwardly shuffles around, bringing his hand behind his head as though he's trying to break the awkward silence he deliberately brought onto himself.

"Are you okay? I mean like, lately, have you been okay…?" his question is dotted by a million more he wants to ask.

"I'm fine."

"It's just, you don't look fine." He knows she doesn't want to talk about it, and especially not with him, but can't help the words coming out of his mouth.

Dumbfounded by his insistence, she flashes him a look of annoyance, "What do you want?"

"What?"

"Well clearly there's something on your mind, considering you haven't bothered asking me anything in months. So, what do you want?"

"It's not like that."

He wants to say that he's been thinking about this, that he heard her cry in the on-call room and he was too much of a coward to say anything. To tell her that the only reason he saw the girl he left is because he wasn't _looking_ properly.

"No? but I think it is. What, you have a fight with your girlfriend? You want to hear how complicated my life has been lately to boost your ego a little bit?" she continues as he tries to interject, "whatever _this_ is Jackson, we're too old for it."

"-I"

"Is it because I'm seeing other people, then? Because you were certainly _never_ shy about doing the same." And now that she's started venting out her frustrations at his sudden wishes to pry information out of her, she cannot stop.

"It's not that –"

"You brought me home when I was drunk, which was very nice of you. But you also don't get to feel like a hero now just because you regained your common sense and became yourself again for a little bit. I'm not a damsel in distress, I'm not some project you can try to fix and I'm certainly not here to make you feel better about your own life. If you wanted to be a part of my life, you had your chance."

Just as she is about to close the door on his face, he puts his foot in the gap. Exasperated, she sighs as she crosses her arms and waits for whatever it is he has to say.

He looks at her and feels like an idiot for thinking he could pretend that him caring wasn't completely out of character as of late. There's so much he wants to say, an uncountable number of apologies on the tip of his tongue that seem to hitch themselves in his throat.

And yet nothing seems to come out.

She can tell that he wants to say something – maybe even apologize by the way his ocean eyes seem tumultuous, his mouth slightly agape as though on the cusp of saying something. He did bring her home, and maybe, after all, he _could_ be sorry for everything else. For turning his back on her, not just because they were once married but because they were once _best friends._

No, she realizes, with an abrupt, steely determination. She's too wounded by this, she's practically choking on air. Trying to understand someone can only go so far. There are times when forgiveness has to be earned. There are times when some things have to be said out loud.

Closing the door, she gives him one last look. "Go find something else to do," she says, "you're good at that."

.

* * *

.

"I'm telling you, Webber's proposal could really win. It's a freakin' magic wand."

He's sprawled on his couch, and in the last hour Maggie has been there, he's probably uttered about three words. He's not trying to be an asshole, but the conversation he had earlier on still rings into his ears like a headache.

There were many things he'd wanted to say, but even when he thinks of them now, his mind goes blank. What can he possibly say? _April, I'm sorry I've pretended you were on the missing person's list for the last 6 months._ Or, _Hey, I know this is none of my business but let-me-make-it-my-business even though I don't want it to be my business._ Better yet, _I wanted things between us to stay neutral and I forgot that nothing is neutral when it comes to you and me._

There are many things he could have said, but instead he'd stood there, mouth agape in front of her apartment. To be fair, words had never come to him easily, but fuck, he'd stopped a wedding to confess his undying love for her, and now he can't even say he's sorry?

The sudden sound of something hitting the floor startles him and he stands up, walking over to the kitchen to see what's happened.

Maggie looks up at him, slightly apologetic, "I was making a tea, and it slipped out of my hands."

He looks down at the mug, ornate with blue and pink flowers that he'd let sit in his cabinet because it was his last piece of her. The flowers are now scattered on the floor, broken into hundreds of irreparable pieces.

Finally looking up from what shouldn't be such a big deal, because objects are just objects and only _people_ can really hurt you and as of late, Jackson doesn't even let people hurt him but why does seeing the pieces on the floor hurt so _damn much_ and why can he hear April's sobs from the other side of the on-call room and her empty stare when she tells him there is no hope left… He looks up, and finally says,

"I can't do this."

.

.

.

* * *

EDIT: It is literally not humanly possible for me to write 3-4k word chapters that I am happy with, and that you would be too, if it was every day. I take a lot of time out of my day to write this and I don't really love it when I get messages that it's taking me too long. 4 days isn't long, so I hope you understand :)

A Jackson centric chapter! Fun fact, I've always preferred writing his POV the most, so this fic has actually really been a change of pace for me. I know this update wasn't as quick as the first one, but I'd rather spend the time to write it how I want it than rush (also, I've been binging Girls. So like, sorry.)

Things are going to start getting more exciting from here, and I'm so thrilled for what's to come. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Please leave a review to tell me your thoughts, and _please_ don't be too harsh about it LOL. Make sure you follow the story if you want to be updated on new instalments, and if you have anything you want me to answer (or you just want to say hi!) I'm also queenkepner on tumblr.

The song for this chapter is Cowards by Raleigh Ritchie.


	4. Chapter 4: Talk

**Chapter 4:** Talk

I can remember the good old days  
Where you and me we used to hide away  
Where the stars were shining or the sun was blinding our eyes  
Yeah you filled up my glass  
With promises that could never last  
 **But I still find pieces of you in the back of my mind**

Cause we don't, we don't need to talk about this now  
Yeah we've been down that road before  
That was then and this is now  
 **The crowds in my heart they've been calling out your name**

There must be about a hundred different versions of texts Jackson composes that night. He's never been one for words, and when his own mind is in a storm of its own, it's no surprise they seem to come to him even less easily.

" _I'm sorry."_ Seems sleazy when it's reflected from a phone screen, like two digital words cannot begin to encompass how he is feeling.

He knows that, after her scathing words earlier on in the night, she doesn't want to talk to him about how she is doing. _If you wanted to be a part of my life, you had your chance._ But truthfully, he is a part of her life, and always will be. Memories don't disappear just because the person does. They have a child together, they have a past, and for the first time in months, he wants to understand what's gone so wrong to get to the present.

Finally, he settles for the one thing he thinks will give him the most hindsight on her state of mind,

" _Have you been going to church lately?"_

.

* * *

.

The next day, she stands in front of the doors she once considered to harbour her safe haven. The entrance to the place where she could feel the closest to her faith, to herself.

Yet lately, her faith has felt like it has left her entirely.

She remembers every single moment spent inside the hospital's church. She remembers when she came here for the first time, and the years after that, where she found solace and peace in her prayers.

 _Please, let my baby get through this._ She remembers pleading.

 _Please, let Jackson and I get through this._

Another time,

 _Please, help me get through this._

And yet here she stands, years later, battle wound upon battle wound as she's witnessed all the ugly in the world with her own eyes. If there really is a God up there, is He not listening to her? Hearing her pleas?

Where was He when she cradled her first born as he died in her arms? Where was He when her marriage unravelled before her very eyes? When was He when she was all alone, and all she needed was some guidance, a hand to tell her that this too, shall pass?

There once was a time where she felt like through all of the ugly, the hard, the heart-wrenching, her unwavering faith could help to bring light to the darkness. And yet, standing in front of the church's doors, it feels like it has failed her time and time again, leaving her alone in the dark to deal with her own demons.

 _People think they know you,_ she thinks. They think they know how you're handling a situation. But the truth is no one knows. No one knows what happens after you leave them, when you're lying in bed or sitting over your breakfast alone and all you want to do is cry or scream. They don't know what's going on inside your head—the mind-numbing cocktail of anger and sadness and guilt. This isn't their fault. They just don't know. And so they pretend and they say you're doing great when you're really not. And this makes everyone feel better. Everybody but you.

Her hand is on the handle, but she pulls it off and turns away.

.

* * *

.

"Jackson Avery, don't you run away from your own mother. We have a project to continue." Catherine's voice pierces through the hospital's halls, just as Jackson was about to turn the corner and buy himself some time before speaking to her.

"Mom! I didn't see you there."

She rolls her eyes, ignoring his blatant lie and links her arm to his as they start walking to the elevators. "Project aside, which I am very happy with the progress we've made, I need to speak to you about something."

He doesn't mean to _actually_ sigh, but it escapes him as soon as she says it. It's not that she never has good news, but whatever she is about to tell him will probably come with more strings attached than what he would prefer.

"Yes?"

"The Avery board would like to meet you about the Grey-Sloan surgical contest." She replies.

"Okay, I can fly there this weekend, then."

They arrive in front of the elevator, and he eyes her quizzically as he presses the button, sensing there is more to it than she is letting on. She looks up at him, giving him a smile he can only describe as _comical,_ "The person that is running your contest needs to come too."

"That's April." He blurts out. She looks at him oddly, and he continues, "It's a six hour flight, and we have Harriet, I don't want to bother her… it's fine, I'll act as a representative for the both of us."

"I'm afraid that won't do," she places her hand on his shoulder, a motherly gesture that takes him years back, "I'll keep Harriet this weekend, we need to do some catching up. The board has insisted to meet the person that is coordinating all the actions and administrative duties behind the contest, which is perfectly acceptable."

He doesn't _really_ have time to process that he's going to have to spend the entire weekend with April, who, by the way, seems to be pretty ardent on disliking him for a large portion of the years to come. No, he doesn't have time to process it, because by the time the elevator door opens in front of him and his mother, she's standing right there.

Her eyes quickly drop to the floor, "April! Perfect timing." Catherine gleefully observes as they enter the elevator.

She shuffles further back, "Catherine, it's good to see you."

"Yes, yes, we can catch up later; you're going to need to free your schedule this weekend."

Next to her, Jackson is _mortified._ Not only had they just had an argument the night before, but in his frenzied state once he'd ended whatever-that-was with Maggie, he'd also sent her a text message to further probe her on how she feels.

"What's going on?" April finally looks up, and almost immediately meets Jackson's gaze. He's looking at her intently, but she's not ready to speak to him about any of it, particularly not after last night since the glimpses of the person that was once her best friend had made an appearance – unsettling her to no ends.

"You'll be going to Boston to meet with the foundation board, about the contest." Catherine says, snapping April's gaze away from Jackson's, and the elevator's doors open. "I need to go see Richard, Jackson, dear, make sure you fill her in on the details."

Just like that, she exits the elevator and leaves the two of them behind, dumbfounded.

The elevator's doors close, and, had this been a scene from a movie, the audience would be squirming at how uncomfortable the situation has become. It's a few seconds until either of them realize the elevator isn't moving because neither had bothered to press a button.

He turns to her, studying the way she is leaned against the elevator's wall, hand clutching a tablet he hadn't noticed before. Finally, he speaks. "I'm sorry."

It's the tip of the iceberg, really. The beginning of a monologue neither of them could stomach at the present moment. She doesn't particularly want to _acknowledge_ what he's said – to open the floodgates.

He's still looking at her, but there's a space between them that can only characterize the space they've both put between each other since the demise of their relationship. He knows she won't answer, but he just wants her to know. So quickly, as though what was said lives only in his own memories, he continues, "The flight is on Friday, it's only for one night."

She meets his gaze, "That's your weekend with Harriet."

"I know. My mom said she will watch her."

She bites her lip, "You can keep her tomorrow, if you want." He looks at her, almost _struck_ by the ridiculous generosity April Kepner can muster even when the world has turned against her. "Since you don't get her this weekend."

"That'd be…nice. Thank you."

And before he has time to say anything else, the elevator door opens and she walks out, leaving him reeling from the words that have become ghosts in his mind.

.

* * *

 _._

" _That looks wrong." He observes plainly._

" _It's a headphone splitter, and you're an idiot. A soon to be board certified surgeon," she muses, "but still an idiot."_

 _She connects both of their headphones, and then decides to plug it into his phone. After countless hours of studying together, she's grown accustomed to his music taste. He hands her his phone, almost automatically, like their actions have been synched up from spending so much time together._

 _As she scrolls through his music, he wraps his arm around her. He tells himself it's because the bus is cramped, and that he's just trying to make both of them more comfortable, but it doesn't escape him that they've grown closer to each other since his break up with Lexie._

" _No making fun of my music, we both know it's the superior one anyway."_

 _Mockingly feigning that she's hurt, she brings her hand to her heart, "Excuse me?"_

" _You heard me."_

" _So we're going to pretend you don't know all the words to "Sexy and I know it"?"_

 _He laughs, earning an annoyed glance from Cristina that is sat on the row adjacent to theirs. "Touché."_

 _Finally, she settles for "Young Folks", a song she knows they both love, that reminds her of late nights and laughs and most of all, of her best friend._

 _If i told you things i did before  
told you how i used to be  
would you go along with someone like me  
if you knew my story word for word  
had all of my history  
would you go along with someone like me_

 _She leans her head on his shoulder, settling into his warmth as she closes her eyes. Their future is uncertain, she knows that. First, they'll have to pass the boards, and then all of the people she's grown accustomed to, the people she now calls her friends, the person she calls her best friend… they'll be scattered around the country, and the last few years will become nothing more than a distant memory. Right now, the only thing that really is certain is that she feels nothing but comfort from Jackson Avery._

 _i did before and had my share  
it didn't lead nowhere  
i would go along with someone like you  
it doesn't matter what you did  
who you were hanging with  
we could stick around and see this night through_

 _It's nice, he thinks, to have someone you can say anything to. To have someone that understands you for who you are. There's a certain comfort in someone being able to understand him without the need for clumsy, insufficient words._

 _and we don't care about the young folks_

 _._

* * *

 _._

By the time she finishes a consult with Amelia over a car-crash patient that'd arrived in the E.R the night before, she's still annoyed at the text message she'd received the night before. It also _really_ doesn't help that the bottle of wine she finished after putting Harriet to bed last night wants to remind her it was a terrible idea in the form of a torturous headache.

"You're hung over again?" Amelia looks at her as they walk out into the corridor.

"Like you can't even imagine."

The brunette smiles, "I think you'd be surprised."

That's when April remembers the times she overheard Meredith and Alex talk about Amelia's substance abuse and general dependency on alcohol. She knows that she's sober, now, but can't help but feel like an idiot for telling her she couldn't imagine. "Oh, Amelia I'm so sorry."

"Don't sweat it." She swats her hand in the air, turning to face April, "I've got some time, do you want to grab lunch?"

April's slightly taken back, not used to her co-workers being the first to initiate plans, and she can't help but almost _beam_ at Amelia's proposal. "Sure!"

They continue talking as they make their way to the hospital's cafeteria, when Amelia says what she's been thinking all along, "It's none of my business, but you shouldn't drink to the point of a hangover every night."

April stays quiet as they choose their respective meals and sit at a table in the middle of the room. Once they're sat down, she confesses, "I'm not in the best place, right now."

Amelia studies her, and in the way her green eyes look lost – drained of any emotion, almost, she sees herself. Owen had oftentimes told her the two women had more similarities than one would think, but she'd dismissed it as him trying to get her to like his friends.

But in April's pained expression, Amelia's past woes are clearly reflected.

"I can't pretend I know what you're going through, but I'll tell you this, I've seen darkness. I've faced it, I've embodied it and I've basked in it. You don't want to go down this road."

She's grateful to learn that people like Amelia still exist. That someone out there is listening, is watching. The moment feels strangely confessional, and even though they are in a cafeteria that has started to fill up with the staff's lunching hours, she feels like she can finally let some of the burden on heart out.

"I just, I – I don't know how to accept the way my life has turned out."

She thinks about how his question had prompted her to go face the doors that held the safety she so longed for, but no longer felt at home in. That if God is really watching over her, then why did her life turn out like this?

"There's no clear-cut path for anyone. Life doesn't wait for people, April." Amelia's voice is punctured by the ghosts of the people that have left her, all of the men she's ever loved, all of the grief she's ever felt.

April nods, "One day I'm twenty-four, and I'm planning about someday that has happiness and picket fences. And then quietly, without me ever noticing, someday is today, without the smiles and home. And then someday is yesterday."

"I think we're much more similar than I first pegged you for." Amelia smiles, and the two women continue bonding.

.

* * *

 _._

 _He's looking at her dumbfounded, but intrigued. "You've got to be kidding me with this crap Lexie; nobody has just one soul mate, that'd be such a dumb system."_

 _Truthfully, he's not sure when he started to see her as anything other than Meredith Grey's younger sister, but he likes being around her. Of course, she's Mark's ex, which makes things a little bit more complicated than he would've liked._

 _But if her and Mark made each other happy, then there's no reason he can't be happy with her too._

 _He tells her that he's in line, waiting for her, and part of him wonders how he even came up with such a great romantic line. He wonders that all the way home, and once the brunette goes upstairs to sleep and he walks into the kitchen, he figures it out._

 _April is sat at the table, mindlessly flipping through a magazine with a white strip covering her nose. He knows that he came up with it stumbling by one of the magazine she leaves scattered everywhere, or from one of the rom-coms he pretends he doesn't like but sits through with her anyway._

 _Nobody has just one soul mate. But for some reason, his heart twists oddly when he hears the phrase in his head again._

.

* * *

.

The following day, she's still tired when she enters her patient's room to check on how she is doing.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Dr. Kepner, you look like _crap."_

April scoffs at Laura's honesty. It's her first time actually seeing the ex-husband Laura had been talking about for the last two weeks, as he sits by her bedside, a book in his hands.

"Laura, honey, to be fair you're the one sat in a hospital bed." He interjects.

"I'm taking that to heart." Laura laughs, but April sees the love in her eyes.

Their story reminds her of a case she'd been on, years ago, which now felt more like lifetimes ago. The couple had met after joining the same bowling league, reconnecting after years of not seeing each other.

Stories like this had always made her swoon. She daydreamed that the universe had been plotting for her soul-mate all along. That God's plan included true love, a love pure and true and worth waiting for.

But if the universe did intend for two people to be together, why then would it pull them apart?

"Excuse me." April says, walking out, the ghosts of her past chasing her away.

 _Have you been going to church lately?_ The question incessantly rings in her ears until she leaves the room.

.

* * *

.

He puts Harriet down in her chair, ready to feed her so that they can eat at the same time. It's these small moments that he cherishes above all, when he gets to spend time with his daughter. In a perfect world, he would see her everyday – and his work wouldn't restrict his hours so much.

"You still seem happy, though," he's talking in a baby voice as he starts feeding her a mashed vegetable concoction his mother had bought for her at the store. "Don't you?"

Wherever he stands in ranks at work, whatever promotion or big shiny job or inheritance that's been thrown his way, the little girl sat next to him that has her mother's eyes and her father's tanned skin is his greatest achievement.

To him, there is no reality in which he could even live without her. "Your mummy went through a lot to get you here, you know that right?"

He can still hear her, sometimes, the way her voice pierced through the phone's speakers and into his soul. He saw his whole life flash before him then, because he'd known there was no way a world without April would ever make any sense to him.

 _You're going to be a great daddy,_ she'd told him in a voice soaked with love.

As he watches his daughter, he hopes that she was right. That despite the poor example of a father he'd looked up to his whole life, Harriet will grow up adored by her own.

 _You are a good father._

"Mummy's very angry at Daddy." He tells Harriet, pulling the spoon away as he scraps the bowl for more, "Daddy wants to say sorry, but he's very bad at it."

And it's true. He's tried to keep his distance from her because he thought that was what was best for the both of them, and yet seeing her unravelling before him has made him question it. He's lost, and almost lost, her so many times that he wonders if that's why he'd been keeping his distance lately. _I go insane when I'm with you; you're all that matters,_ he thinks.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye to the kitchen counter, he's made a neat pile of the remnants of a once cherished mug. The flowers have been divided into smaller pieces, but once Maggie had left he didn't have the heart to throw it away.

I'll put it back together, _I'll fix it,_ he thinks. And somehow, his subconscious knows he doesn't just mean the broken pieces of porcelain.

.

* * *

.

The next time they're alone, she is sat on the seat next to his across the aisle, the cosy luxury of the Avery foundation's private plane. They'd bid farewell to Harriet and Catherine earlier on that afternoon, deciding that taking the red-eye to Boston would be the best way to spend the 6 hours that the journey would take.

They haven't _actually_ said anything to each other, their conversations seemingly orbiting around avoiding any direct talk.

"Champagne?" the air hostess breaks the awkward tension between them, bending down with a plate that has two flutes on it.

April smiles as she grabs hers, and as Jackson dismisses the air hostess – opting out of the bubbly beverage, April grabs his glass too. "Thanks!" she smiles, a glass in each hand as she starts drinking.

He's shocked – bemused, almost. "I don't like seeing you like this."

"You don't like _seeing_ me at all."

That shuts him up, and they both stay quiet as the plane takes off. After finishing her first glass, she doesn't feel the usual blur of her anxiety that alcohol has been able to bring her. Rather, what was previously on her mind seems to refuse to budge now.

Finally, her voice breaks the silence. "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I haven't been going to church."

There's a small silence between them, and he figures that he might as well be honest with her right now. He doesn't know if it's their fight three days ago, his unspoken words at her broken doorstep, or the way her empty eyes glazed over his in the conference room over a week prior, but he does know that the neutral ground he'd taken such caution at laying down between the both of them has been blown over. Perhaps it was always meant to.

He glances at her, "You haven't been wearing your necklace, that's how I know."

Her gaze is inquisitive, like she almost cannot believe he would notice such a small detail on her. Instinctively, her hand flies to her nape at an attempt to grasp the small cross that was once there.

She doesn't say anything else, but rather sinks into her seat as she stares out of the window, the Seattle skyline now out of view.

It's going to be a long weekend.

.

.

.

A bit of a wordy chapter! I had to set up the premise for the next one, and when I tell you I'm _over the moon_ excited for you guys to read it, I really mean it. The idea came to me in a dream, and I was pretty pissed off when I woke up.

Once again, let me thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for the lovely reviews you've been leaving me on here and all of you engaging with me on tumblr too! I appreciate your comments, follows and favs so so much; nothing makes me want to write more!

The lovely quote from April's thinking in front of the church is from a book called "Coming to Term."

My tumblr is queenkepner if you want to discuss anything! I love hearing your takes on the storyline :)

The song for this chapter is **Talk** by Kodaline, but enjoy the momentary Young Folks I managed to sneak in there, hehe.

Please leave a comment telling me what you think! Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5: Lost Stars

**Chapter 5:** Lost Stars

And God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young.

It's hunting season and this lamb is on the run.

We're searching for meaning...

But are we all **lost stars** trying to light up the dark?

.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: EVERY TIME A SONG IS MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER, I** _ **URGE**_ **YOU TO PLAY IT TOO.**

.

She watches him from across the conference table, his tone is stern and authoritative – here, in the sea of corporate lawyers and board members dressed in expensive monotone grey suits, he looks like he almost belongs.

As he continues explaining the premises of the surgical contest, his expression is a far cry from the boy she once knew, running as far away from his legacy as the world would take him, desperate to forge his own name.

From the moment they'd arrived in Boston, they had only had time for a brief stint at the hotel that the Foundation had set them up in, to freshen up and head over to a day full of meetings.

"Dr Kepner we are…thrilled you are hosting this." A Dr Cohen states.

A woman whose name she had not yet been able to retain continues, "Yes, it is… _interesting_ to have a relatively unknown presence host. I guess it will take the focus back to the contestants." Her tone is too snarky for the rest of the room to not notice the cold intonations behind what she just said.

April doesn't have time to reply though, because Jackson's voice breaks through the momentary silence. "Aside from her incredible dedication to the art of medicine through her stints with Doctors without Borders in Jordan, Dr Kepner has oftentimes been singled out as one of the greatest members of our staff at Grey-Sloan Memorial." He is now _glaring_ at the woman sat opposite them, "This contest falling into her hands is no accident, and the foundation should be grateful that she accepted."

She's taken back by him taking her side, by now she's learnt that the person that once defended her through anything oftentimes preferred to antagonize her – to follow whatever the crowd was hurling against her.

And he's taken back too – perhaps almost as much as she is. He didn't mean to snap at a member of the board, his _equal_ by all means even though it's his name plastered all over the paperwork. When her eyes meet his, she expects to see the regret glinting back in his ocean eyes, but instead she sees a flash of anger.

"Right, shall we continue then?" Jackson's voice finally breaks the silence, and the spectacle he's caused all put their head down and scramble to find the next policy they need to address.

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, with April mostly keeping to herself and interjecting only when her input is due. She doesn't feel comfortable, surrounded by doctors and heads of corporations that clearly hold their noses far higher than they should.

Her eyes rest on him, partly because she knows that he is too busy to notice. She can't help but feel the twist in her heart when she pictures a 15 year old Jackson Avery, listening in on meetings, followed by an 18 year old expected to have an input far greater than most people his age, and now, in his late thirties, with a title that overshadows his every move.

Finally, the meeting ends, and Jackson and April leave the room, onto the next one. Staying behind, the remaining members of the board put away the contracts that'd just been looked over and signed.

None of them are _thrilled_ to even have Jackson as such a powerful member, considering his young age and that is was merely handed down to him as a family heirloom, almost.

A woman, sat next to Dr Cohen, breaks the silence. "They used to be married."

"That should explain Dr Avery's… outburst." Another one quips, and they leave it at that.

.

* * *

.

They finally finish their day of meetings when it's dark outside, both walking out of yet another conference room feeling drained. Instinctively – almost, they both sit down on an ottoman perched between two bureaus.

She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the wall, glad to have finally finished the finalizing touches to make sure the contest runs as smoothly as possible.

He turns to her, watching as her lids are fluttered close. "She should've never spoken to you like that."

"It's alright."

He furrows his brows, "No, it's not."

"Jackson, I'm used to people thinking their name or rank can result in any superiority over me."

 _You, for example. Meredith Grey, Maggie Pierce, the list goes on._

He leans back, and he too closes his eyes. "When you were appointed head of General surgery -"

"- you were an asshole to me?" She finishes. He nods, and she takes in a sharp intake of breath. "She was right. I _am_ unknown and the contest _was_ randomly plopped onto my lap."

"You not being published in medical journals doesn't make you unknown. The thousands of lives you've saved since taking the oath, _they_ know you."

He doesn't expect an answer, and even if he did, she doesn't owe him one. Sure, it's nice to hear him saying that to her, and, had this been even last year, she would've thanked him. But it's easy to say things to someone when it's just the two of you in an empty corridor, less so when the world is watching.

So, she leaves it at that. Grateful that he defended her to a snooty woman in grey, but not eternally thankful. He isn't a hero, that she's come to learn.

"Do you want to get a taxi?" He asks.

"We can walk."

Nodding, they both stand up and walk to the elevator, as they step in, she turns to face him, deciding she may as well be civil since they'll be in each other's company until the next evening, "So this anonymous donor…"

He looks at her, dubiously, "Yes?"

"You _really_ don't know who it is?" Her eyes glint with a hint of amusement.

"No idea."

"Really? Because _I have_ an idea." She looks at him, and the corners of his mouth are dangerously close to breaking into a smile, akin to a playfulness they both hadn't seen in a while.

He doesn't answer her, instead walking out of the elevator and into the building's lobby. When they reach the glass door that separates them from the snowy exterior, he checks his watch. 9pm. He looks over at her, "It's still early, do you want to do something?"

She's a bit taken back, but doesn't dwell on it. "We can go to a bar?"

"Do you feel like drinking?"

She knows that his question harbours a hundred more – all stemming from that night he carried her home when she'd tried to drown out the conflict in her head with alcohol once again. But this time, when he asks her, oddly enough the moment doesn't feel like it needs the blur of one too many drinks. Instead, she shakes her head.

They step out onto the snow-paved streets of Boston, moonlight and window sills illuminating their way. They're walking in the direction of the hotel, but it's a while away and they both know it.

As they walk for what has at least been ten minutes, his thoughts seem to get the better of him, they haven't been alone like this in what seems like weeks, and there is so much he wants to say to her, so many wrongs he wants to right. _I'm sorry I didn't stand up for you when the whole hospital was against you,_ he thinks. _I'm sorry I didn't barge in when you were crying._ And finally, _I'm sorry I ignored our past to have an easier present._

While their was a hint of playfulness before they stepped out of the elevator, each of their interactions seem to be tinged with the awkward knowledge of what's transpired between the both of them.

And yet, none of those thoughts voice themselves out loud. Instead, he turns her as her boots slightly squeak from the damp sidewalks. "I don't know how to make us okay again."

"Maybe we're not supposed to be."

They're standing near a lamp-post now, and she stops in her tracks – as does he. The sounds of the city envelop them, and yet, on this cold winter night in the middle of Boston, her voice is the only thing he can hear. She looks at his expression, furrowed brows she's learnt to know so well, and continues talking, spilling more than she would have imagined.

"There was this one time in bible study, at school, when the teacher made us draw what a sinner looked like. I drew a stick figure, on its knees, praying. And then when I saw what I drew – really saw it - and I asked myself, where was the sin in this? Why did my mind immediately jump to penitence, rather than the sin itself?" She shrugs, a bit impatiently. A bit impatient with herself. "What I'm _trying_ to say is – the thing about redemption, it's only a satisfying end to the story – an _aftermath_ \- but it doesn't erase everything that came before it."

His gaze meets hers, "You don't forgive me."

"No," she continues, "And you don't either. For leaving." The snowflakes fall around them, like their realizations coming into place. "That's why you've been pretending I don't exist, isn't it?"

He hangs his head in shame, but doesn't answer her straight away. Finally, he looks back up at her face, features full of defiance and answers, "I would imagine so." And then, when she doesn't answer, her cheeks stained red from the cold air around them, he continues, his voice pleading, almost, "How about _this_ then: A one off, where you're not you and I'm not me anymore. One night where we're neither of the people we've become, but the people we wished we would be instead."

She can tell that he _is_ sorry, but there comes a time where forgiveness isn't all it's pent up to be anyway. If she did forgive him, what then? It wouldn't make her forget his distant blue eyes when she pleaded for help from across the room. "We can't run forever."

"Then let's just do it tonight."

"Just for tonight." She echoes, and perhaps, it's not the worst idea in the world. One night away from being April Kepner sounds like a dream at this moment in time.

They've been so engulfed in each other's words that neither realizes until this moment that it's started to snow. The snowflakes fall rapidly, changing the dark night sky into an ethereal picture.

"Come on, let me show you around."

She follows behind him, reminded that he always walked too fast for her smaller legs. When he doesn't see her next to him, he turns around, finding her a few steps behind. Boston had been his home until he turned eighteen, and though cities tend to be impersonal, this is a walk he'd often taken after leaving the Avery Foundation's headquarters. To clear his mind, to encounter people on the streets who all have their own stories, to be reminded that there is a world where the weight of legacy doesn't weight him down.

They approach a small shop lit up by a red neon sign, and without turning around, he asks her if she's hungry.

She nods, but then realizes that he couldn't _possibly_ see it with his back turned, so she tells him yes, her voice coming out a little curt.

When they arrive in front of the small shop, she can finally decipher what the neon sign says. " _Best Hot Dogs in Boston"_

"It's not a lie, you know." He doesn't ask her for what she wants on the limited menu, instead asking for two of the _specials,_ one with extra mustard, like anything she ever ordered. "Trust me, my mom practically banned me from coming here every day."

It's those small glimpses of him, perhaps, that are the reason April is standing there with him, something she couldn't have fathomed only three days prior.

"Jackson! It's been years!" A man appears from the counter, his hair grey and face showing his much older age. Jackson extends his hand for a handshake, but the man crushes him into a hug from across the counter, finally releasing him when the latter's sleepiness became obvious.

"It's really good to see you too, Martin." And in his tone, she can tell that he means it.

The two start a conversation, and feeling slightly out of place, April watches the other man that's making their hot dogs in the small locale. Finally, she snaps back to reality when she hears the awkward turn their conversation has taken.

"Is this- is this the wife?"

 _Not anymore._

Jackson brings his hand behind his head, a habit he's always had when he's not sure what to answer. "No… no that's- "

"It is! I remember from all the pictures you showed me last time, that red hair, boy, it's hard to forget. Pleasure to meet you." He extends his hand to April, and she shakes it with a small smile.

Finally, the other man puts down their food on the counter, and she's ready to take out her wallet when he waves his hand, Jackson already having paid. She wants to roll her eyes, she's not his wife, this isn't a date, and he knows perfectly well she can buy herself a _damn_ hot dog, but she doesn't push it further because they're in public and because, after all, it's not an evil gesture.

"You take good care of him, alright? I've seen this boy grow up into a man, and I'm just glad his regular visits didn't change his good looks." Martin laughs, and both Jackson and April bid him goodbye, once again walking along the pavement.

Refusing to acknowledge what's happened, Jackson gestures to the street's corner, "There's a bench over there." And without answering, she follows him. Surely enough, when she finally reaches him, two buildings connect to provide shelter for a small bench that, truthfully, looks out of place. She feels almost silly for relating to a bench – but then again, that's how much the world manages to belittle you when you are feeling down.

They sit quietly, their shoulders touching in possibly the most intimate way they've been since Montana. Under this small shelter, there is a perfect view of the city ahead, with the lights and snowflakes getting tangled in perfect harmony.

"You never told me about this place." She finally says.

When he breaks his stare from the food in his hand and turns to her, her hair is covered in white specks, the slowly melting white and red creating a stark contrast that looks almost too predictable, too otherworldly to be true. "It was before you."

She doesn't answer him straight-away; instead she stares out at the scene that's happening before them, secretly hoping it could also snow in Seattle. "I think like that, too."

He casts her a quizzical glance, urging her to continue her trail of thoughts.

"Before you, and after you," she continues, "like my life's momentums changed my first day at Mercy West and met you."

Still looking at her, he nods. When she puts it that way, it's true he has a tendency to define every event in his life as to pre or post April. The air is quiet, but there is a feeling of understanding, some innate emotion that only comes after years spent by someone's side – as co-workers, as friends, as lovers, as a married couple.

Reaching into her bag for a napkin, her expression changes when her hand clearly reaches something else in her bag. He's intrigued, and as she pulls her hand out, he recognizes the object in an instant.

"Do you _ever_ clean your bag?" His question is sarcastic, but it's betrayed by the amusement in his eyes.

"I just haven't used this one in a while!", she glares at him, "I can't believe it."

On her lap, now, lays a small headphone splitter. She wouldn't be able to say when the last time she'd used it was – five, six years ago? And it had happened to be with the person sitting right next to her.

"It's my turn." He says, plainly, as though talking to someone from the past.

She scrunches her nose, "What? It was you last time."

 _Last time._ When was the last time? On the bus to the boards? In their bedroom at the hotel, studying as his hand lay reassuringly on her knee? And – surprisingly, that's the thing about last times. Moments with people seem so full of possibility, _so_ certain they will happen again, that you don't always make the last one count. You don't always remember the last time because it never felt like it would be the last.

"Alright, but I'm telling you, _no_ Justin Timberlake."

She smiles, such a small smile that anyone could have missed it, but he's hanging on to her every feature. "I'll just put it on shuffle, give me your earphones."

They stand up as he throws both of their food's wrappers and she hooks up both of their earphones to her phone, she hands him his respective set, and there is a moment of complete silence between when they both put them on and when she hits the _play_ button on her phone.

 _Lost Stars – Keira Knightley_

The slow, unfamiliar strum of a guitar starts, and he doesn't recognize the song.

 _Please don't see just a girl caught up in dreams and fantasies.  
Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see._

He looks over at April, and wonders if this is a song that came before or after him. Or, perhaps, before or after their divorce. She's enveloped in a big winter coat, the only reason either of them can even be outside with this temperature, but she still looks so small.

The song continues as they both walk throughout the city, and he doesn't look at her again. They're close enough so that they can both be connected to her phone, tethered by the music that connects them. Only last week, he wanted nothing to do with her, the floodgates of his heart shut off so she couldn't do any more damage, and yet – here they were.

 _Take my hand, let's see where we wake up tomorrow.  
Best laid plans; sometimes are just a one night stand.  
I'll be damned; Cupid's demanding back his arrow.  
So let's get drunk on our tears._

They're walking past a small park, and her eyes focus on the trees covered in snow that she can only make out due to the lampposts lining the street. Walking in a city at night makes her look up to all the windows, look up to all the people that are stumbling out of bars and into cabs, or down to the subway, and she wonders – has life been kind to them? Has their plan worked out?

She doesn't notice Jackson pointing to something until a few seconds later, and looks up to see a beautiful building, the architecture just as striking as the rest of this area of Boston, on a plaque, it reads, " _St. George's Middle School for Boys"._

"I came here before I went off to boarding school." He tells her, and she can tell that the start of a giggle makes its way up her throat. Jackson Avery in middle school, now _that_ must have been something. Especially now that she knows he had a particular affinity for a certain type of fast food.

 _And God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young.  
It's hunting season and this lamb is on the run.  
We're searching for meaning...  
But are we all lost stars trying to light up the dark?_

The words echo between them, but neither have to speak them out loud. By the time she was in her thirties, April had thought that she would have life figured out, and she'd imagined the same for her best friend. And yet, here at thirty eight, neither of them seem to have a clue as to where they belong.

Was their relationship just temporary relief, then? Just two lost souls seeking belonging with one another?

 _Who are we? Just a speck of dust within the galaxy.  
'Woe is me' if we're not careful turns into reality.  
Don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow._

Neither of them knows how long it's been since they've been burying their present in memories, haunted by the times that made them feel like more than one entity in this vast world. And here, as the snow falls around them, they don't feel the need to revert to the past. For once, the present is just as meaningful.

 _Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer.  
Turn the page; maybe we'll find a brand new ending.  
Where we're dancing in our tears._

The song blurs to the background when he looks back at her, and without her own realization – a single tear has fallen across her cheek.

She wipes it away with her gloves, and the words that come out of her throat could've been to herself, a quiet idiom of thoughts, he just happens to be right there. "How am I supposed to have any faith left? How can I believe that all this hurting, all the ugly in this world is part of some _plan,_ Jackson?

He hears her saying his name over and over again. When's he's just met his father. _Jackson._ When a patient traumatizes him. _Jackson._ Through bus crashes and explosions and fires and weddings and trauma. _Jackson, Jackson, Jackson._ And yet, this time – finally, something different pierces the cold winter air –

"April."

Fourteen years flicker past them like snowflakes catching moonlight, and at last, he understands.

Somehow, the snowflakes seem to be getting bigger and more erratic around them, and the people on the street around them all seek shelter from something neither Jackson nor April shield themselves from. Instead, he looks at her, his voice softer than he imagined it would come out as, "The pain that you're feeling can't compare to the joy that's coming."

She can hear her own words from almost a decade ago reflected back to her, back then, two residents trying to garner some peace after being heralded with questions about their dead friends all day. Now, two surgeons, two adults, two _parents,_ still trying to make sense of the world. "Do you really believe that?"

"I believe you were right the first time you said it, so why not now?"

In all the years to come, he would never be able to tell how long this moment lasts, whether it's a few minutes, or more, they are like statues, standing in front of each other as their pasts and presents intertwine. The next song plays in the background, but neither of them pay attention to it, like the moment has grounded them back to… whatever this is.

Her eyelashes are meshed with snowflakes now, too, as she tries to wrap her mind around what he's said as they stand in front of bars full of life. It's _true,_ life had seemed like rock bottom after the shooting, but they'd felt infinite happiness in the years to come, had they not?

She doesn't answer him, but she doesn't have to. After all, he was there. She starts walking again, and he follows quickly behind her, tied to each other simply by the cord that's finishing a song that neither of them even heard.

A familiar strum of instruments starts, and her head automatically snaps to meet his gaze, a smile spreading across her face. If she can't find her inner peace tonight, she won't let her own demons take over either.

 _For Once in my life – Frank Sinatra_

He looks at her and smiles back. It's a small exchange, truthfully, but it seems like the first in years that's not tied to anything else. It's a smile that looks more like the future than it does the past.

"We have to dance." She says, a bit louder so he can hear her over the music.

"What?"

"We _have to dance!"_ And she barely finishes her sentence as he grabs her wrist and pulls her into a bar just a few feet away.

 _For once in my life I have someone who needs me_

 _Someone I've needed so long_

 _For once unafraid I can go where life leads me_

 _Somehow I know I'll be strong_

As soon as they enter it, their own music becomes too low to hear, but she grabs her phone and puts the volume on full, effectively drowning everything else around them.

The bar is crowded, but it's not like they are paying any attention. She realizes his hand is still on her wrist, and the song's enthralling saxophone makes their body dance as though there isn't a care in the world to be had.

 _For once I can touch, what my heart used to dream of_

 _Long before I knew_

 _Oh someone warm like you_

 _Would make my dream come true, yeah yeah_

He catches glimpses of her face, her eyes full of light and her hair wet from their walk outside, and even in this state of clear dishevelment – she looks like a dream. Perhaps she doesn't look like sunshine like she once had, before the world tore her apart. No, now she looks like she's been kissed by moonlight.

 _For once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me_

 _Not like it's hurt me before (Not like it's hurt before)_

 _For once I have someone I know won't desert me_

 _I'm not alone anymore (I'm not alone anymore)_

For once, he is not Jackson Avery, chairman and heir to more than he could ever do with. And she's not April Kepner, a trauma surgeon that is struggling with her faith and what it entails. Or maybe they are. But as they dance, in the middle of this crowded bar, they are two stars, skyrocketing through an abyss of constellations. The past, the present, the future… it has no effect on the way he holds his skin to hers, or the way she smiles up at him on the dimly lit dance floor.

He twirls her around, completely lost in the rhythm of the song and the promise of one night where they get to be who they've always wanted to be. Happy.

 _For once I can say_

 _This is mine you can't take it_

 _As long as I know I have love I can make it_

 _For once in my life I have someone who needs me_

She's mouthing the words when she notices the smile on his face. And she wonders how long it's been that she's seen this part of him. As the song's saxophone solo begins, their bodies dancing together as they lose themselves completely. For the first time in a long time it doesn't feel like she's just a bystander looking at life. No, right now, she is living.

He must sense how she's feeling, because over the music, she can hear his words barely pierce through. "You and me," his body is still moving, but his gaze is intent on hers, "It was real, wasn't it?"

There's a smile on her face that she didn't expect to remain, and the words spill out without her rational thinking them over, "It was real," his wrist bringing her body closer to his as they continue swaying, stepping, losing touch between who the music and themselves are, becoming one.

Without any notion of time and space, they find themselves outside of the bar sometime later, the eclectic pulse of the music still running through both of them. They're both smiling, and when she looks at him, his smile is a genuine Jackson one. It's more crooked, more imperfect than his usual stoic photo-ready one, as he lets his teeth show slightly more, his cheeks creasing just a bit more, as though his real self is showing through.

She stumbles back a bit at the realization, her own grin falling from her face. Her headphones are still firmly in place, though, loud enough to drown out the city but low enough so that she can still hear the breaths he takes in from the cold wind.

Just as he turns to her, the next song comes on.

 _Total Eclipse of the Heart, by Jill Andrews._

The whole scene is ethereal, his gaze fixed on her faltering features as she continues to walk, looking away from him now. When the song begins, it strikes her as oddly familiar.

Like she's heard it in a dream.

"I'm not used to you being nice to me anymore," she finally admits, in a small voice, her shoulders hunched into herself as if she is waiting for the universe to strike another blow.

 _Every now and then I get a little bit terrified_

 _And then I see the look in your eyes_

Self-loathing hollows out Jackson's stomach. He removes his gloved hand from his coat's pocket and offers it to her beneath the moonlight. "I'm sorry," he rasps, the words strained, so long unused.

April nods, looking in that moment so solemn and honest and dear to him. She doesn't forgive him, not in the slightest, but she still accepts it for its sheer honesty. He puts his arm around her as her head rests on his shoulder, an old habit that feels right. Like two puzzle pieces.

 _And if you only hold me tight_

 _We'll be holding on forever_

And he holds her, for twenty minutes straight, that's all he does. They walk through the snowy streets of Boston back to their hotel as the listen to the rest of the song. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't look at her face. He doesn't try to kiss her. All he does is wrap her up in his arms, without an ounce of selfishness in it.

 _A life of legacy and faith_ , he thinks, _and the only real thing left is **you**._

.

.

.

* * *

You guys! This was honestly the most fun and the most challenging thing I've had to write so far. I cannot tell you how vivid this chapter was in my head, and I absolutely had to make sure that it translated well into writing. I hope it did!

I would _love_ to hear what you thought of this one, so please leave a comment! Thank you so much for all your support for this story. It's lovely to know you all care about these two as much as I do.

This is the first chapter without any memories, and there's a reason for it: sometimes the present is so magnetic that you don't have to lose yourself in the past.

This chapter was heavily inspired by the movie Begin Again, where a night with a headphone splitter becomes an ethereal walk around the city, if you haven't seen it, I cannot recommend it enough.

If you want to know why I chose each song (and trust me – this was a process) here's why:

"Lost Stars" by Keira Knightley, from the movie Begin Again which heavily inspired this chapter. It touches on the feeling of being lost in the world, lost with faith and wanting the person beside you to not forget the good memories, too. It's perfect.

"For once in my life" is also from Begin Again and I completely inspired the part it's in from the movie. It's up-beat with a tinge of nostalgia, the kind of song you wish you could dance to with your soulmate.

"Total Eclipse of the Heart" this is the song that played when Jackson stood up at April's wedding, which is way she thinks she's heard it in a dream. This song embodies their journey perfectly.

My tumblr is queenkepner in case you want to drop by and say hi Hope you all have a great weekend.


	6. Chapter 6: Boston

**Chapter 6:** Boston

Essential yet appealed

 **Carry all your thoughts**

Across an open field

When flowers gaze at you

They're not the only ones

Who cry when they see you

.

The next time she sees him, he's sitting across from her at breakfast. He'd called her room early this morning when she'd stepped out of the shower, asking her to join him downstairs in one of the hotel's grandiose and intimate lounges to eat and discuss the day.

"No, see, what I'm saying is that while Meredith's proposal is very interesting," he continues, his mouth full of French toast – which she finds funny, a man raised to such high standards always reserving his worst table manners for her, "but the patents alone cost too much."

"Why did you give up aerolized stem cells?" she cuts him off, "sounded pretty cool."

"Yeah, it was." He's still swallowing his breakfast, "But my Mom… her and her friend convinced me to join their project to perfect the vaginoplasty."

"I know what the project is. I voted for it."

He looks at her, a flash of curiosity across his eyes as he senses she wants to know more, "I realized a cool project isn't cooler than changing the lives of millions of trans women across the country."

For all of the questionable things she could say about Jackson Avery, him giving up his original idea, which had the winning title written all over it, for something that could actually help improve people's quality of life doesn't seem to surprise her all that much. They continue to eat, and she glances at her surroundings, the ceilings high and the walls adorned with paintings, mirrors, and an overall sumptuousness she hasn't seen many times before. It's clear the Foundation makes sure its members are at their uttermost comfort when visiting.

"I know it was you," she says, and when his eyes dart to hers as he drinks from his glass, she elaborates, "the donor, the _big anonymous donor._ It was you."

That's when he almost chokes on his orange juice, putting the glass down to grab his napkin and wipe the unattractive trail or orange liquid that's escaped his mouth. He should've known, especially last night after she'd mentioned it in the elevator that she would figure it out. But he'd assumed she'd dropped it when he hadn't answered her and steered from the subject.

Her steely gaze is determined, she doesn't particularly care if she's made him uncomfortable, she's curious and wants to know how this contest that seems to have already taken up so much of her life came to be. "Why'd you do it?"

There's no point escaping her question now. "I've lived under the Harper-Avery's shadow for almost four decades, I wanted my own thing."

She looks at him, and without saying a word, nods. She reaches over to the basket of baked goods, and takes a bite of one of the mini croissants.

"You think it's stupid."

"You're investing millions of dollars to fund innovative projects that may change the face of medicine," putting her croissant down, she meets his gaze, "I don't think it's stupid."

And the air between them has changed – shifted, perhaps.

.

* * *

.

" _You're going to make us late! Again!" she almost giggles, running out the door and into the car's passenger seat._

 _Finally, he enters the car and looks at his wife, rolling his eyes at how ridiculously good she looks so early in the morning._

" _Babe, He'll understand. A man needs his sleep." He says, laughing as he starts up the car._

 _Slapping his arm, she replies "I'm not sure the rest of the church will when we enter the service late."  
_

" _Alright, but we're stopping for coffee first."_

 _Unflinching, she looks at him, "You're kidding me."_

" _Look, we've spent all week saving people's lives, I'm sure He Who Sees All will forgive us for stopping for a little caffeine fix before you go see him."_

 _She looks at him and lets out a stifled laugh, "Sometimes you speak about God like he's Voldemort."  
_

" _Yeah well, better than as Justin Timberlake." Reminding her of the days where they'd seen each other again after the boards, and the mere sight of him in his navy scrubs drove her crazy._

" _Alright, alright."_

" _That's my beautiful, caring wife." He teases her, caressing her cheek with his free hand as the other rests on the steering wheel._

" _Mm" she muses, "Love is patient, love is kind," stroking the hand that rests on her chin, she concludes, "or whatever."_

 _._

* * *

 _._

"I don't see the point in doing it online," April continues, "people need to hear about and see this contest on the same echelon as the Harper-Avery."

He looks at her, curiosity getting the best of him as they sit inside one of Boston's upscale restaurants. Next to him, Dana Conrad – the Avery Foundation's head of social coordination and events, and one of the country's best event planners, nods at April's statement.

"I completely agree, this needs to be an opulent affair, one splattered all over… _whatever_ news outlets there are in Seattle. A grand opening will make sure all eyes are turned onto the contest." Dana replies, noting down some things on the tablet that is propped up to her side on the table.

"So, what then – a ball? A banquet?" Jackson grew up around these types of events, where over-the-top parties were hosted for everything imaginable.

Dana looks at them both, a clearly proud smile on her face, "I was thinking of a masquerade ball."

"That's maybe _too_ over the top?" April can't help but feel that a masquerade ball for the opening and announcement of finalists of a medical contest seems a little out there, but then again, the Avery Foundation has never found its strong suit in subtlety.

"You want this to be lavish, _sexy,_ just like your contest. This is about innovative projects by some of the country's top surgeons, and hosted by a hospital owned by the foundation that has the biggest name in the medical world. This contest is new, it's state-of-the-art and racy, you need your opening event to reflect that." Dana answers.

And, in all fairness, she's got a point. Jackson casts a glance at April, searching for approval in her face – and the way she's nodding along is all he needs to know.

The rest of the meeting is mostly Dana talking, letting the both of them know that she'll take charge in how to organize Grey-Sloan's surgical contest's opening event. A life of planning parties, April thinks, doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world. Planning events for enjoyment certainly sounds easier than being the reason someone lives or dies. No one's ever died from a bad party.

They say goodbye to her outside of the restaurant, finding themselves alone once again. It doesn't have the same awkwardness as it did a few days prior; some of the edge seems to have been… taken off, after last night's escapade through the city and snow.

It's not like they're reverted to comfort, but she seems to bear his company a little better than she would have before. People grow on you, she half-guesses as he sees Dana to her cab.

"I want to go buy a souvenir for Harriet." She tells him, looking in the direction of the street adjacent to the one they're standing on, which she'd noticed on the way over was lined with Boston souvenir shops.

"She's one, I doubt she'll appreciate an I heart Boston hoodie."

She side-eyes him, "I wasn't _inviting_ you."

A smile almost threatens to make its way to his mouth, instead only visible in the ocean eyes she's facing away from. "Well now I'm _definitely_ coming." And despite his sarcastic tone, he actually walks behind her as she makes her way to the shops he knows are just tourist traps.

They walk into a shop that's filled to the brim with every possible attire and accessory and novelty items related to the city. Hoodies line the wall, and they vary from naming every major school in Boston to different ways of professing their love for it.

And, also, not to Jackson's surprise, an unprecedented amount of lobster-themed regalia.

His eyes skim over the shop's contents as she's already darting to the other end of the shop, overzealous when it comes to novelty items, a trait he hadn't paid much attention to recently. That's the thing about knowing someone for fourteen years, there is so much you know about them that some things seem to get lost, buried in a part of the brain that safe-keeps these small memories.

One thing he _does_ remember, however, is her love for throw pillows, and when she comes around the corner as he eyes some postcards unenthusiastically, he can't help but want to roll his eyes. "I really think you've got enough of those."

"Not that is should be _any_ of your concern – but I happen to think that _too many throw pillows_ is not a thing."

"You have enough to furnish five more apartments." There's no real bite to Jackson's tone, and if there was, it's soon belied by the gentle way he takes it from her hands and puts it down on the checkout counter.

He's brought back to the night he'd laid her in her bed, the closest they had been in months – yet galaxies away when their eyes would meet. _You see the girl you left._ She'd seemed so small, so stricken by the blows the universe kept dealing her, and he'd felt like – for the first time in years, he both knew everything and nothing about her.

And, of course, he remembers the ridiculous amount of pillows scattered about her apartment, a small reminder of the colour that once adorned his.

A few minutes later, April resurfaces from the pile of toddler t-shirts she'd buried her nose in, always onto the next thing, he thinks. Always larger than life.

She's holding a tiny t-shirt, and, by the time he reads it, her face is already full of excitement.

 _My parents went to Boston and all they got me was this lousy t-shirt_ it reads, in multicolour writing.

"It's _perfect."_ She squeals, clearly very proud of her find, and he laughs. An actual, real laugh – a _giggle_ almost. In a souvenir shop in his own hometown, Jackson Avery just _giggled._

"I think it needs accessorizing." His eyes twinkle with amusement.

She scrunches her nose, "Like what?"

Taking a few steps towards her, his hand behind his back, he damn near _plonks_ a plush lobster hat right on her head. "Something like this."

She looks in the mirror and a laugh escapes her, "I think I'll wear this to the ball, actually."

"That's not the _worst_ idea ever."

They smile at each other, an understanding smile that still seems so far away – they are only a few steps away from each other, yet their subconscious seems to still be keeping a safe distance between each other.

Still holding each other's gaze, a woman neither of them had noticed before with a thick southern accent turns to them, a grin on her face, "Can I just say, y'all are adorable. How long you been married?"

April stumbles over her own words, as quickly as possible an indifferent tone that's betrayed by the warm shade of pink that's flushed her cheeks, "I-uh- we're not married. But thank you."

She pats April's shoulder, and then looks at Jackson, her smile slightly smaller now, "Oh sorry! I just assumed, thought I saw a ring. Have a great day!" And just as quickly as she'd broken into their moment, she leaves.

There are a few seconds between when the woman leaves and when he turns to her, as he faces a wall of magnets, where he contemplates what he's going to say to steer the subject. And then, he hears her making a sound, his eyes automatically veering to her… she's not… _crying –_ is she?

When he turns to her, whatever it is he was expecting is proved wrong. She's braced one hand on a postcard stand for support, while the other hand clutches at her stomach. "I'm sorry," she gasps between pearls of mirth, her shoulders shaking "I'm sorry, I'm just so – embarrassed for the two of us –" And she's off again, collapsing against a wall full of stuffed I Heart Boston animals, giggling her heart out.

He scowls at her, visibly affronted, but the intimidating effect is ruined by the blush that has yet to recede from his cheeks. You were my _person_ , April thinks, overcome by a sudden rush of fondness and nostalgia so poignant and profound that it makes her heart ache and eyes water. Not all pain is bad. Not all tears are evil. She understands that, now.

.

* * *

.

" _This one is so cute!" She squeals inside the gas station their bus had come to a stop to. By his calculations and overall look of his surroundings, they were still a few miles away from their destination._

 _She's holding a keychain, beaming with a look of innocence on her face – pure, unaltered excitement. He rolls his eyes, but is easily betrayed by the smile that plays on his lips, "April, you don't heart San Francisco, you're going to take your boards."_

" _I might heart it. You don't know that." She's still smiling despite his negative attitude, knowing by now that her best friend often failed to see the positive side of things, or to appreciate small joys like souvenirs from trips she knows she will always remember._

" _Alright, come on. On me," he leans over and takes the keychain from her hand, heading for the checkout, "you got the Pringles for the way here. It's only fair."_

 _She doesn't argue with it, because, to be fair, he has a point. Not to brag, she thinks, but she's a pretty great person to travel with – she'd provided him with uninterrupted entertainment as they searched each other's phones for music, and she'd brought snacks. Truly, a great study buddy and travel partner._

 _And a part of her likes that when she looks down at the silly and touristy keychain, she'll remember her best friend._

.

* * *

.

It's been a relatively quiet flight back, the events of the weekend and its array of meetings clearly taking its toll on the two passengers of the Avery private plane. They don't really speak for the first half, both either drifting in and out of sleep or watching the movie on the TV in front of them.

And while the journey seems peaceful enough, Jackson's thoughts are killing him. He knows that once they land in Seattle, things will return to their new normal, and somehow that doesn't bode well with him in the least.

He thinks of her voice the night before, her look full of unanswered questions that the night sky would swallow whole. _How can I believe this is all part of a plan?_ Just the thought of hearing her words again makes him turn in his seat, wondering when she'd come to this point. For as long as he's known her, her faith has been her emotional anchor; something that neither defines nor dictates who she is, but rather something she embodies.

And then he thinks of her laughter earlier on, how it had sent warmth coursing through his entire body. He saw it in her eyes, then. The nostalgia.

Finally, he takes an earplug out, and turns to her, ""I can tell you that you should give it to God and have faith," her head snaps up to meet his eyes, slightly confused as to what he's talking about after three hours of interrupted silence, "or that you need to talk it out and get it out of your system… or- I just – there are so many things I could suggest, but I think you just need to take a step back. There isn't just one solution that fixes everyone, and it's just – it's not like you even need to be _fixed._ The way you're feeling, the conflict you're facing, it's understandable, you know. You've seen a lot of ugly, been through it and back – and – I just want you to know that I know you, or at least I used to know you better than anyone, and I think you should just remember that you're going to get through it."

She looks at him, blankly, speechless. The air between them feels clumsy as he stumbles through his words, awkward, almost. He blinks a few times more than needed, and his voice comes out, softer than either of them had expected but full of conviction, "You're going to get through it because you're you."

And as odd as this moment feels, she comes to the realization that she shouldn't always try to avoid everything from happening. Some moments are meant to be awkward. Some moments are meant to be vulnerable, under the moonlight as you pour your heart out and let someone hold you while coming to the realization that the wounds they've caused may never heal properly.

Some moments are necessary, she thinks, because they're all part of you getting to the next part of yourself.

.

.

.

* * *

Short lil chapter finishing these two dumbies' trip to Boston, a little breather after their Nick and Norah-esque night in the last one. Next chap we are back in Seattle, which I can only assume means more _drama…_ but that's just me, hehe.

The lovely ending quote is inspired by a passage from Cecelia Ahern's "The Book of Tomorrow".

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter and I love hearing about where you guys think this is going, I always leave a few breadcrumbs here and there. Oh and the memories are back! It's easy to be drawn to the past when your present is scary and uncertain.

Since this was a calm little instalment, I thought I could give you guys a few facts about me since I got a few questions on tumblr asking me. I'm 18, on a sabbatical year – which is how I have the time to write this, tbh, and Japril have pretty much been at the centre of my life since I was like, 13 – which is only slightly insane. Hearing your comments about my writing makes me all warm and fuzzy because eventually it's what I want to pursue.

The song for this chapter is Boston by Augustana, because _duh_.

Please review! And if you want to discuss anything, my tumblr queenkepner's inbox is always eager to hear from you guys.


	7. Chapter 7: Delicate

**Chapter 7:** Delicate

This ain't for the best  
My reputation's never been worse, so  
 **You must like me for me**  
We can't make  
Any promises now, can we, babe?  
But you can make me a drink

.

When she walks into Laura's room the next day, she can't help the look disappointment on her face, knowing that she was expecting to go home in the next few days. Leaving the door slightly opened, she walks in to see Laura and Ben talking away.

It's her first day back at work since Boston, a full two days since she's seen Jackson after she dropped Harriet off at his apartment the same day they'd arrived. While she wishes she could say nothing had changed between them, April's decided to get into the habit of not lying to herself anymore.

Something _has_ shifted, but surely, it's just further proof of her losing herself, right? Yet… his presence doesn't feel much like losing herself, but rather like reconnecting to an anchor that'd quietly left.

However, this isn't Montana. She doesn't have to feel guilt, this time, for things that end up being more casual than she'd anticipated. No, this time, she is in charge.

"Dr Kepner! It's good to see you!" She's smiling, unaware of the news that's about to be bestowed onto her.

"Laura, we need to talk about you leaving." And by the look on her face, it's pretty obvious that she _won't_ be.

Laura listens attentively as April tells her that the infection on her arm is getting bigger and hasn't been responding to the antibiotics that they put her on. She's calm, nodding along with an understanding gaze – after all, she'd survived horrific burns to a large part of her body, _and_ seemingly reconnected with her ex-husband, a few more days in the hospital maybe aren't the worst thing in the world.

"That's alright," she finally says, and squirms a bit as she tries to sit up more, "but could I get the bandages around my elbow changed? They're too tight, I think."

"Of course, I'll page Dr Avery." April is glad that Laura's taking it well, admiring her perseverance to get through it.

A small smile plays on Laura's lips, and she looks at April, "About Dr Avery… Ben told me not to ask, but I'm too curious… are you two together?"

A flash of confusion flashes over her eyes, "What makes you say _that_?"

"Well, not to be indiscreet – but it's just the way you two look at each other when you're in the same room, like there's no one else around." She can tell the doctor is flustered, as she shuffles slightly while holding the tablet that has her chart on it.

"I don't – I – No, Dr Avery and I are not together." It's _absurd_ she thinks, that anyone would still think that, almost two years after they divorced.

She decides to blame the question on the heavy dose of medicine Laura is currently on, deciding that's a much more viable answer rather than having to think of the way Jackson and her look at each other. _Truthfully,_ she thinks, _I do my best to glare at him._

And to some extent, it's true. Laura had been here for almost a month, and when she'd first arrived, they'd both been in a different place. Sure, their recent trip to Boston had been surprisingly… _nice_ , but she also doesn't have amnesia – one nice weekend, a few nice gestures here and there, it's not enough to erase the past.

They'd both made it clear that neither could forget the past, after all.

 _You don't forgive me._

 _No, and you don't either._

Laura smiles, knowing that April wants to understand what led her to believe that, "You live long enough to see the same eyes in different people."

April nods, dropping the subject, "I'll make sure Dr Avery comes take a look at your bandages."

She leaves the room, slightly flustered as she looks down at the door. She widens the door's gap, talking a left with her eyes still fixed down when –

\- her face _collides_ with a chest that smells familiar and feels it too. Startled, she looks up at Jackson as he is stood right outside of Laura's room, his shoulder hunched against the wall indicating he's been… stood there for a while?

Straightening herself out, she decides she wants to avoid eye-contact, deciding to instead focus on a gurney that's stationed behind him, " _What_ are you doing standing out here?"

"You – uh – you paged me." He says, and her eyes automatically veer to his as her mission to avoid eye-contact fails almost instantly, transfixed by how blue and clear they look in the moment.

He takes in all her features, quickly – he knows this is just a fleeting moment. Without any reason as to why or how, his eyes flicker down to her lips for a second – just long enough for her to notice.

 _Like there's no one else around._

"Oh," she snaps them both out of their trance, but her eyes don't leave his just yet, "right. It's something about her bandages."

He nods, watching as her long lashes meet his gaze when she looks down, walking away. Putting her hands to her cheeks when he's out of sight, she can tell they've turned pink, but she pegs it on her falsely accusing him of eavesdropping rather than… the latter.

As he watches her leave, he can't help but think that even though he _had_ come because she'd paged him, her accusatory tone had been right. After he'd arrived at the patient's door, he'd noticed that it was left slightly open, just enough so the conversation inside could startle him and stop him in his steps. _You and Dr Avery?_

.

* * *

.

 _She giggles, and his heart almost leaps out of his chest. They've just finished an eight-hour surgery together, the euphoria and adrenaline still cursing through both of their veins._

" _It's moments like these, you know," she smiles up at him as they scrub out, the OR dimly lit and now empty, "where I know I was meant to do this."_

 _And he so badly wants to tell her that there is no doubt in his mind that this is her life's calling, that the world would have missed out tragically had she chosen anything else. That he would've missed out tragically without her in his life._

 _But she's engaged, and he's told her that he can't go to her wedding. Some things are too painful, too weird, too awkward. It's not that he still has feelings for her… he tells himself, proudly remembering he's also managed to be in a relationship too. You're not the only one that's moved on, he thinks._

 _And yet. He looks at her, her red locks hidden by her scrub cap, full of flowers and colours and joy – sunshine, he thinks. She is sunshine._

" _Me too." His voice is low, but it's the only thing he can muster when they're both alone in a room for the first time in a long time and she looks this euphoric._

 _She smiles, and in her smile, he sees the best years of his entire life. His best friend, his person. Even now, still now, always. But just as quickly as she smiles at him and his heart forgets that she's engaged to another man, she leaves the room._

 _Maybe there's a world where he grabs her wrist and begs her to stay, asks her to go and talk, basks in her presence just a little longer. But that's a different world._

.

* * *

.

"You still haven't told me about Boston." Amelia says, as they both look ahead at the CT screen.

April's sat next to her, a coffee in her hand, "Nothing much to say, really."

The brunette eyes her, and through their fast-growing friendship over the last month, she can sense some degree of dishonesty. "You look different."

"I do?"

"Did you," she clasps a hand on her chair, her mouth widening in disbelief – yet she whispers the rest, "did you _sleep_ with him?"

"What!" It's April's turned to be surprised, "No! Oh – Oh God no!"

"Just checking."

For the second time today, April can't help the flush of pink that spreads over her cheeks at the mere _thought_ of Amelia's insinuations. She's only just started being able to be in the same room as him without seeking the nearest window, let alone sleep with him.

A small part of her, perhaps the same part that leaned into him under the cold Boston snow as they walked home, thinks back to the second his eyes flashed over her lips.

No way.

She stands up, "I've got to get back to the E.R." and smiles at Amelia, walking out of the room as she tries to clear her head. Sure, they'd once been attracted to each other, practically ripping each other's clothes in on-call rooms at any given opportunity, but the look in his eyes… it was different while still eerily familiar.

The thought still doesn't leave her when she bumps into Arizona – actually happy to see her. Arizona tends to use words carelessly, April's come to learn, but she decides that some people aren't meant to just be discarded.

"April! I wanted to speak to you, actually."

"I'm all ears."

"Okay I just – I don't want you to take this the wrong way," and her tone is calm, soothing, something she's probably come to learn while speaking to sick children in an effort to reassure them, "Some interns have been spreading rumours about you."

There's a few emotions traversing April's mind when she hears those words, but shock certainly isn't one of them. _You're a heartless bitch,_ she remembers the man in the light blue scrubs saying, his eyes full of resentment and reasoning.

She doesn't answer her, but Arizona's pager goes off as soon as she's about to open her mouth, "I've got to run, but keep an eye out for yourself, please."

.

* * *

.

On the other side of the hospital, Jackson heads towards the day-care to go spend his free time between surgeries with Harriet.

As he turns a corner, a familiar face faces him, and he instinctively winces – clearly not ready for whatever conversation is about to take place.

"Maggie." He says, his voice flat.

"That's all you're going to say?"

He furrows his brows, not entirely sure what she expects him to say, "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Since you kicked me out of your apartment."

There are about a thousand places he'd rather be in at this precise moment, the morgue, for example. "I'm sorry about that."

"No, you know what – what kind of grown man kicks a woman out for breaking a mug?"

"I didn't kick you out because of the mug." He's embarrassed, now.

"You're right; you kicked me out because you couldn't _do this."_ She rolls her eyes, "I should've known, you know. There are rumours about you _all over_ this place – of you leaving your girlfriend at another woman's wedding. I should've known you have zero moral compass."

He stares at her, blankly. Hearing her talk about April's wedding sounds odd – like it doesn't belong in her mouth, and yet he refrains from answering, instead expressionlessly looking around.

"Actually, let me correct myself, you're not a grown man." Her voice is icy, and she starts to walk away before turning her head back at him one last time, "You're a confused boy."

.

* * *

.

He sits next to her in the empty bar, putting down his jacket on the next seat as he turns to her. She glances at him, hiding her surprise, and he speaks first, "My mother wanted to see Harriet before leaving."

She nods, and they both ignore the overarching awkwardness between them. While they both constantly live in each other's thoughts, it seems almost odd when they actually come face to face – or rather, shoulders almost touching like now. Like they're seeing each other after being haunted by the ghosts of who they once were incessantly.

The last two days hangs between them, an unspoken burden.

Looking ahead, she turns her gaze away from him as he orders his drink, he asks if she wants another one and she nods, briefly asking for a whiskey on the rocks.

"Two." He asks the bartender, and then turns to her, "you were always more of a beer girl."

"Yeah well," she sips the rest of her drink, "it wasn't quite cutting it."

He cocks his head at her response, replaying her quiet confessions under the snow where she'd given him a glimpse on her current state of mind. "You continue to surprise me, April Kepner."

The use of her full name startles her a bit, and she's not sure if it's because the alcohol has started to give her a slight buzz, but she finds herself almost intrigued by him in this precise moment.

 _Why are we here?_ She wants to ask him.

"I'm not sure _who_ April Kepner is anymore, to be honest with you."

 _How are we here?_ She wants to continue.

Before he can respond, Joe puts down both of their drinks in front of them, breaking the small moment between them. As he grabs his drink, Jackson can't help but replay what she said in his mind.

He wants to reach out to her, to tell her that April Kepner is a brilliant surgeon who grew up in Moline, that she holds her faith and family at high standards and that on any cloudy day, she is the light that helps people out of their darkness.

But he's too much of a coward and she is too much of stranger nowadays, and he knows she doesn't want his reassurance any more than he's clumsily given it to her – this isn't his battle to pick, so instead he takes a swig of his whiskey and simply observes, "It's all crap."

She smiles, a small smile – a sad smile, almost, but a smile nevertheless. She can tell there's more he wants to say, but after their weekend full of confessions and thoughts finally spoken out loud, she finds their disregard for words just as intimate. Like he's trying to read her mind – or acting like someone that used to be able to.

"I don't think I'll ever be as happy as I used to be." She says, quietly.

He doesn't say anything for a while, but he does glance at her, and can't help but remember their last time sat in a bar, like this, no expectations between either of them except the unburdening of their hearts. _Me and you._ Memories of a past life. "You will be."

"And are you? Are you happy?"

"One conversation at a time." he smiles, and she relaxes on the stool, turning to him.

Their gazes lock for what feels like a moment, but is probably just mere seconds, until she looks back down. She thinks how this feels nice, sitting next to him. Like after all these years, it's not just her and him now, but also Harriet and the abundance of people that have shaped their lives since, the world seems full of possibilities. It's almost cathartic, like the end of something – or the beginning of another, that she cannot pinpoint. _It was never just me and you,_ she thinks. _It was me, you, and the world._

Breaking the silence, she confesses to something that's been on her mind. "Arizona told me there are rumours going around about me."

He turns to face her again, and is slightly startled to see her doing the same, his eyes meet hers, an empathetic look on his face, "That's funny, I got told the same thing today."

They both wince slightly, simultaneously, their bodies still in sync from years spent at each other's side. She doesn't even know why she's speaking to him, when the memories of everything that went wrong between them floods her at any given moment.

She sighs, a little louder than she originally intended to, frustrated that out of all places she's ended up here, discussing this, and with him.

"It can't be that bad." He says.

"Well an intern called me a cold hearted bitch so I'd say I'm clearly doing a great job."

A laugh escapes him, and she shoots him a glare, not appreciating the humorous side of the situation. And yet, there's no real hardness to her look, as soon as it land on his eyes, it's practically _soft_.

They continue chatting for a while, mostly discussing medical matters as she tells him how the panel is handling the contest and they both agree on details for the upcoming ball the hospital and Foundation will be hosting. It's empty chatter, really, but the ease at which it comes to both of them is odd, eerie, she would say.

Looking at his watch, he realizes it's probably best to go home now, his mother having had plenty of time with Harriet by now. He turns to April and tells her he needs to go, and his eyes seem to be fixed on her – _just a few seconds more,_ he thinks, so badly cherishing their time since their uninterrupted talks in Boston. It feels like a dream when he thinks of it now, her hand in his as he twirls her around to the music they've lost themselves to.

 _It was real._

She sees it, in the look in his eyes. He's thinking about Boston, about confessions in the cold as music blurred out the world around them. If life was always that simple, she thinks, then perhaps.

"Would it have been so terrible?" she blurts out. "Staying?"

He badly wishes that all she means is staying here, in this moment, but even he cannot turn a blind eye on the expression that's washed over her face.

His eyes meet hers and the pain that is still there is all the answer she needs.

.

* * *

.

At around 2am of the same night, Jackson Avery proudly stares at what he's been working on for the last hour. As a surgeon, he learnt precision, and as a _plastic_ surgeon, he knew the importance of reconstruction without leaving scars behind.

And yet, as the porcelain sits all glued back together, there are still visible cracks between the flowers that adorn it, the glue putting them back together but leaving faint scars throughout the mug.

But he thinks that the scars may not be the worst thing in the world. That the cracks on something that was once so beautiful, so meaningful, aren't always bad – they're just a sign of life being lived. Perhaps a reminder.

.

.

.

* * *

I hope you enjoy this installment giving us a little more insight on their life post-Boston… sigh, it's not all nights strolling around the city, although trust me, I wish it was for these two. As either of them would say: Perhaps one day.

As I post this at 3 AM, I still haven't seen this week's ep, but I have seen spoilers… feel free to come discuss in my ask box on tumblr because I'm going to have a _lot_ of feelings – that much I can predict.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the response this fic has been getting, you are all so kind and incredible to leave me reviews and messages after every update! It's my favourite part of this entire process, seeing you all react to it

As always, please leave a review telling me your thoughts and my tumblr is queenkepner if you want to come talk!

Thank you lovely people and have a great end of the week!

The song for this chapter is **Delicate** by Taylor Swift, and it's perfecttttt for these two.


	8. Chapter 8: Atlantis

**Chapter 8** – Atlantis

Cause in my heart and in my head

I'll never take back the things I said

She said, in my heart and in my head

 **Tell me why this has to end**

I can't save us, my Atlantis, we fall

We built this town on shaky ground

 **I can't save us, my Atlantis**

 **.**

She puts down her phone as soon as she spots them, walking down the day care's hall and towards her. She'd texted Jackson earlier on, telling him she wanted to see Harriet before he checked her in for the day.

"Hi Ladybug!", she smiles brightly, unable to move too much due to the banana bag hooked onto her arm.

He frowns as he reaches her, Harriet in his arms, still feeling slightly out of touch since their exchange the night before at the bar. When he'd left, she'd looked okay – albeit leaving him with some pointed parting words, so why the sudden need to carry around a drip? "Are you okay? Are you – huh – sick?"

She takes Harriet in her arms, still cooing at her with pure joy of seeing her cute face – she misses her every day, but some days where they aren't together feel harder than others. "I'm fine, I just drank a lot last night."

"You drank a lot."

"After you left." She rectifies, nuzzling her nose to Harriet's.

"Oh," he feels guilty, now – sad, even, at the thought of her alone in that bar. But he'd had to leave and get back to Harriet and his mother, or he would've never heard the end of it from the latter. "I organized a dress fitting for you today."

Her head darts up, confused, "A what?"

"For the ball. It's this Friday, remember?" He says it like it's supposed to make sense to her.

"I know _that._ " She gives him a piercing look, "What do you mean dress-fitting?"

"Dana organized a stylist that's going to bring you a selection of gowns to choose from."

She shakes her head, "Absolutely not."

"April –"

"No. I'm a grown-up, I can go and buy my own outfit."

"You're a _doctor,_ you don't have time – and, anyways, these are some of the best designers in the world wanting to lend you a gown, it's not just _any_ dress." He tries to rationalize; it makes sense to him, considering his mother always had similar fittings around the Harper-Avery's, and that this event was supposed to surpass it in terms of innovation and opulence.

"It's not the Oscars, Jackson."

"Will you just _go?_ Please?" He looks down at her, a little closer now as he adjusts one of Harriet's curls that has fallen into her eyes, "You're leading this entire contest, everyone's eyes will be on you."

Oh, so it's about what everyone thinks. It makes more sense to her, now. "Fine." She sighs, exasperated but ready to drop this conversation.

They stand there for a few seconds, and it's painfully obvious neither of them want to leave Harriet. They don't get to spend too much time just the three of them since she's moved out, and this takes them back to when she was first born. To the beginning.

"I'll see you later," he bends down to kiss Harriet's cheek, and as his eyes dart to hers, he realises just _how_ close they are; his warm breath on her cheek as their daughter sits in the small distance between them.

She feels it, too, and for a small moment all she does is just look into his eyes. She expects to see the past, as she usually does when it comes to Jackson, yet this time, they glint under a different light.

She pulls back, Harriet in her arms, "I-uh- later."

He doesn't add anything else, just nods and does his best to turn away and walk back to the elevator.

.

* * *

.

" _I can't even say anything because of the April Kepner defence squad over here." Cristina remarks, pointedly, as she laces up her sneakers in the resident's lounge._

 _Jackson rolls his eyes, turning away from his own locker to face her barbed voice and Alex's retaliating laugh. "You don't have to be such a dick to her."_

 _She doesn't mean to be so callous about it, after all, Kepner's grown on her, but the bitterness of losing Chief Resident and the end of a 48 hour shift doesn't help her tone. "She doesn't know what that is."_

" _Yang." His voice is stern, still annoyed from overhearing her giggling at the expense of the girl he's now guessed is practically his best friend._

" _Avery, come on man." Alex finally says, smacking his shoulder in a way that makes Jackson want to smack him, but he'd already done that a few months back after a failed romp between him and April. "No one actually hates her, you need to relax every once in a while."_

 _To be fair – he's not wrong, which is why Jackson has no good answer rather than roll his eyes and continue putting his lab coat on._

" _You don't have to be so defensive over your girlfriend." Cristina teases, but he doesn't crack a smile, instead feeling a deep sense of discomfort._

" _It's not like that."_

 _She's halfway out the door when he hears her voice, loud enough to startle the whole hallway, "Sure thing, lover boy."_

.

* * *

.

He stands in the lunch queue as Arizona continues telling him about how her project is going. She's been working away for weeks, the faces of the women lost in childbirth haunting and inspiring her every decision.

It's a fascinating project, really, and as she tells him her inspiration behind it, he can't help but picture April as she'd told him one night, perhaps in the snowy streets of Boston or in between a souvenir and bookshop the next day, about Matthew's wife Karen that'd passed.

The day it'd happened, two months prior, he vaguely remembers his name falling from her mouth as she tried to help him out of the pit he'd built for himself emotionally as he treated a young black patient that was a victim of police brutality.

 _Jackson._ Her voice is soft; it always is in his memories, when he thinks back to his name between her lips. Why hadn't he turned around? Or given her more than a lewd look and a dismissive attitude? He'd needed nothing more than to speak to her – that much he knows, to feel better, or at least to feel understood, and yet… he'd just stood there, oblivious to her and her feelings.

In retrospect now, after hearing the cracks in her voice when she told him about her crisis of faith, her fear of not belonging anywhere or not being able to believe in anything… after all of that, he wishes for nothing more than to turn back time just a little – just so he could turn around, and _April_ and letting each other be there for one another.

Alas, time cannot be turned back, so he remains here, in the present, where he's entered a strange realm in his relationship with her. Between strangers and knowing everything in the world about each other. A somewhat grey area.

"Carina's been showing me stats from Italy, and I'm just trying to figure out at what point we're going wrong, you know?" Arizona's voice next to him snaps him back to reality, and he does his to suggest he's been listening the entire time.

"Makes sense." He nods as he eyes the choices of salads, a little intimidated at hearing the competition. He knows that his project doesn't have the winning title sprawled all over it like aerosol skin grafts would have, but it's for a far nobler cause, and lately that seems to be the road he wants to take for himself.

Hearing Arizona speak about her project supports the whole reason why he decided to pour a sum of his inheritance into this project, so that doctors could have a chance to change the face of medicine in all of their respective fields.

Jackson's head snaps up when he hears a voice he doesn't completely recognize in front of him and Arizona speak a little too loudly, "I'm telling you, she was totally up for it _anytime_ until last week."

"So you're not hitting it anymore?"

"No, she's being a total bitch," he shrugs, and Jackson's finally pinpointed who he is: the intern that ran out of the on-call room the day he'd heard April crying. "Not my fault she was so easy."

"Dr Roy," Jackson's voice is loud, louder than their gossiping, and the man looks scared suddenly as he's faced with the man that practically owns the hospital. "I advise you _watch your mouth,_ it'd be a real shame to suspend you."

He's pissed. Arizona can tell, the two interns facing him now can tell, heck – the whole lunch queue can tell.

"Dr Avery I-"

Jackson's eyes are furious, and yet he's oblivious to the commotion that's turned around to see where the raised voice came from. He doesn't care that he's this man's superior, and that technically, he should be able to rise above it. No, he doesn't care – but rather, is blinded by absolute anger someone could even talk about April that way.

"Now walk out of here, and get out of my face." His voice is cold, and anyone that heard it would be glad to not be on the receiving end of it. Vik starts walking past him and towards the door when Jackson's hand grabs his arm, his grip is forceful and forces him to stare up at his superior, "If I _ever_ hear you speaking about her again, you'll be glad if you find a job at any hospital in the whole country."

It's obvious it isn't an empty threat, while he's often burdened by his last name, it _is_ plastered over hundreds of facilities across the country, and members of the medical world across the world aspire to one day have the award that has his very own letters engraved upon it.

The two interns scurry out of the cafeteria, and Arizona turns back to Jackson, mouth slightly agape. She slaps his shoulder and he looks at her, too. Her tone is shocked, "What _was_ that?"

.

* * *

.

It's not until April has a late lunch with Amelia and Arizona comes to join them that she hears about the outburst in the cafeteria earlier on. From the moment she hears about her ex-husband's outburst, she's _fuming._

Going through lunch silently, basking in her own anger, she thinks about the fact that he has no right to speak to someone she's slept with like that. Is the guy an ass? Sure. Is it worth making a scene in front of all of their colleagues? Absolutely not.

She's still angry when she makes her way to the attending's' lounge, where the very same person that's annoyed her organized a _dress fitting_ for her. There are about a thousand places she'd rather be on her way to, for one surgery – considering that's her job, and wearing a prop gown and mask wasn't part of the job description.

When she walks in, a small man wearing a bright purple bowtie greets her. "This must be _the_ Dr Kepner!" he beams at her in a strong Italian accent.

Slightly confused, she smiles and hands him her hand to shake, but instead he gets on his tippy toes and gives her two kisses. Ah, she thinks, the European way.

"I mean – I wouldn't say _the_ Dr Kepner but –"

He cuts her off, disregarding what she's saying by waving his hands exaggeratedly in the air, "I don't want to hear _niente_ about it, Doctor, I have heard _meraviglioso_ things about you."

She smiles, easing into the exchange. It's always flattering to hear that some people still have good things to say about her, although she can't help but wonder who could have possibly spoken to the man when –

"It's the Dr Avery, he could not stop speaking about you during his fitting."

She rolls her eyes, then, "Of course he couldn't."

Did he speak about embarrassing her in front of a cafeteria filled with people they work with? It seems to be a recurring theme today, him not being able to just _shut his mouth._

Turning her gaze away from him, she looks at the three racks of dresses behind him, filled with the most beautiful and glistening gowns she's ever laid her eyes on. They all have different styles, ranging from ball gowns to embellishments in every colour of the rainbow.

He turns to her, "Any preferences, signorina?"

And then, an idea strikes her.

"I was thinking strapless."

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* * *

.

He detects there may be something wrong when he see the familiar head of red curls head straight for the on-call room at the end of the corridor, and he detects it may have something to do with him when she slams the door after making eye-contact.

Without hesitation, he follows her into the room, opening the door as she's sat down on the bed under a small window, head between her hands.

"Is everything okay?"

She wants to laugh, truthfully. For someone who's head of a whole hospital board, he's pretty clueless when it comes to other matters. "Arizona told me you caused a scene."

"Wait," he furrows his brows. "Why are you angry that I _defended_ you?"

"Because, Jackson, I'm _mortified."_ Her green eyes spark with anger now, shooting daggers at him from across the room, "It wasn't your place to say anything."

"What, so I'm supposed to just stand there and watch as some interns talk down about you?"

"You _always_ just stand there and watch, what's changed?" Her gaze is defiant, and she thinks that he flinches, but doesn't think about it twice.

"A lot's changed." There is a rasp to his voice that wasn't there before.

They both know that he's right. A month ago, he'd stood outside the very same room unable to come in – unable to help her. And he's here, now, and he knows that it's not enough, but perhaps one day it will begin to be.

He timidly walks over to the bed she is sat on, and sits down, leaving a space between them.

She can hear it in his voice that he didn't mean any harm by snapping at the man she slept with, that he was trying to salvage her honour like he'd once done at any chance given when they were only residents and she was her peers' scapegoat for any anger or mockery. That seemed like light-years ago, now, and the man sat next to her only gives her glimpses of the boy she once knew. But she knows she's not the same person either; and a small part wonders whether he also stays up at night wishing for the girl that'd once shared everything in the world with him.

The room is quiet as she sits and thinks – and he sits right next to her, both basking in a momentary moment of quiet between snaps at each other.

"I don't want to do this anymore," her voice is soft, softer than he'd expected after she'd berated him, and the glow of the evening dusk pours out from the window and onto her red hair and pink cheeks. "Fighting. I'm too tired."

She means it, he knows she does. He looks down at the floor, thinking of the countless therapy sessions, the fights and the make-ups and every awkward conversation in between. "Me too."

After all of the years, all of the arguments and separations, he realizes that these kinds of fights can never be won. They're both sat full of their own thoughts in a silent on-call room, so who'd won? Him, by getting her to sign the divorce papers he'd asked her to? That's the thing, even if you're the victor, you've hurt the other person, and there has to be some loss associated with that.

"I've given you everything, Jackson. All of my love – once, and now, all of my anger. I have nothing left to give, but just… just this empty carcass of someone you once knew. I'm done, I have no more to give." There isn't a trace of anger left in her voice, but rather the reiteration of the emptiness she feels.

He wishes she would yell. Or throw things at him – or, or say _anything_. But rather, she looks blankly ahead, and he's left reeling from her words. "You're not done, April."

She turns to him, slightly surprised of his choice of words, as she'd faintly expected him to argue about their relationship or something else, rather – he'd caught onto the core of what she told him. Onto her.

He looks back up to meet her gaze, and she wonders how long it's been that she's looked at him, _really_ looked at him. Sure, they've exchanged longing exchanges throughout the last few months, and more so in the last one, yet here in the evening dusk, she sees him.

She sees _it_ , then. That he's also carrying the shell of someone that's been hollowed out from the inside out by the world, putting up a front that could've even had her fooled. "We save lives, that's what we _do_ ," she sighs, her frame slightly hunched on herself as he listens to her every word, "and yet we've neglected to save ourselves."

It baffles him, really, that even in moments of utmost vulnerability; April Kepner still manages to find words scathing enough for him to physically wince. "I don't think this is the end," he says, finally. "Just a pit stop along the way."

"You don't?"

"I don't." And in his voice, she finds the smallest shred of reassurance.

They both stay silent, and her gaze falls back on the wall ahead of them, but he doesn't look away. He thinks of her, child-like and smiling in a random souvenir shop in Boston, embracing the awkwardness and joy that once imploded between them both. He thinks of her small sleeping frame the night he'd taken her home, broken and accusing.

All of these things that have happened to them, with them, between them. These people and these places and these events, and yet she's right here, sat next to him. They're not fighting anymore, and yet both of them have shown the fissures in their souls – no longer the two residents full of hope on their way to their board exams. Perhaps they hadn't been whole since the day they got onto that bus.

She'd once told him he was good at compartmentalizing and yet as his eyes stay fixed on her, he sees everything that she is swirling around like his own inner tornado. She's Harriet's mom, but she's also the girl that stayed up studying for the boards until delirious hours with him, and the girl that would wake him from his nightmares months on end after their friends died, she's the girl that tasted like strawberries and mint, and the woman that held his hand as their child lay in their arms, dying, she's the person standing waiting for him after he's met his dad, after a patient has affected him, after everything. She's everything that's ever happened to him of note. She's _everything_.

His voice comes out a little louder than a whisper, "I don't want to fight, either." He can't help but just keep staring at her, his eyes skimming over her every feature like they hold the universe's truths. He tentatively extends his hand towards her, "Friends?"

She stares down at the hand that hovers a few inches above her thigh, outstretched and slightly trembling – which is out of the ordinary for a plastic surgeon known for his impeccable precision. And yet, his fingers do have the smallest quiver to them, a movement so small and fleeting one may miss it. But not her. Never her. Not after all this, after all the years of laughs and cries and promises. Her eyes meet his, and they look rueful too, uncertain. Perhaps it's a moment of weakness, or just an admission that sometimes, life is a little too hard to live with grudges, but she lowers her hand to his and clasps it on his warm skin. She can hear his breath hitch, "Something like that."

Fourteen years, he thinks. Fourteen years and they've ended up right here.

.

.

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* * *

To my lovely, patient and incredible readers: I cannot thank you enough for the continued support on this story, and to the amazing individuals that have checked up on me on tumblr to see if I'm okay after news about Jessica and Sarah.

I'm sorry I took a little break; I was going to update to finish up the chapter the day I got the news and frankly, couldn't bring myself to write for a few days after it.

I don't want this to be pages long, because frankly I could go on forever about how much better these two women deserve, but feel free to go to my blog to see my little rants over it.

There is a is a petition to keep Sarah and Jessica on the show, it only takes a few seconds to sign and I would highly recommend you do: even if it turns out to be pointless, I'm sure both actresses hold the outpouring of support close to their hearts. It's the least that we can do after they brought us these characters we cherish so dearly. I can't link it due to FF regulations, but it's super easy to find and I'll make sure to reblog it again tonight on my tumblr if you want to find it more easily there :)

This story will be continuing, because unlike Krista Vernoff, I believe they are not done creatively. I'm going to be honest with you guys, this chapter actually ended with a fight originally. I scrapped that after reading the news, deciding we all need a little love and light right now. The beautiful quote about there being no winners is by David Levithan.

Jackson and April have genuinely been one of the greatest joys of my entire life. I will carry their love in my heart for the rest of my life, they are the reason I decided to start writing and will always be one of the greatest reflections of love I have ever seen. I'm devastated that they won't end up together in the Grey's universe, but I know that in thousands more parallel ones, in different worlds and different galaxies, in different fictions and AUs and in all of our hearts, they will spend the rest of their lives together.

" _ **We loved with a love that was more than love."**_

 _-_ Edgar Allan Poe


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